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Logs:Taking Pity

2014-01-10T01:45:03Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Alida, Taikrin | where = Star Stones, HRW | what = Taikrin has to deal with the mess Alida left behind after her flight-gone-bad. | when = | gamedate = 2014.01..."

{{ Log
| who = Alida, Taikrin
| where = Star Stones, HRW
| what = Taikrin has to deal with the mess Alida left behind after her flight-gone-bad.
| when =
| gamedate = 2014.01.07
| quote =
| weather = A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark.
| categories = Glacier
| mentions = K'del
| ooc =
| icons =
| log =

Dragon> It's not all that much longer after Cadejoth has dismissed the pair before Szadath drifts in on a curl of acrid smoke. << Ilicaeth. >> He himself sounds amused, layered over a thread of annoyance that feels more 'Taikrin' than 'Szadath'. << Bring yours. >> To where? The star stones, apparently. (To Ilicaeth from Szadath)

The brown pair have taken over the south end of the stones platform, as far from the watchrider as they can manage. Szadath is perched, statue-like, to watch the bowl below. Taikrin stands at his shoulder, arms across her chest, and also appears to be watching-- though her lips are moving as if muttering to the brown or herself.

Juuuust fucking great. Well, best to get to the second reaming out before his rider wants to lay back down again. << We're comin'... >> notes the growly blue, his sands furnace hot, though some faint balm is taken from his sire's amusement. Not long after, Ilicaeth's backwinging as gently as possible to a landing, then edging his craggy frame over slowly towards Szadath's, and hunkering down so that his rider's closer to Taikrin's level. After a few moments to regain her hung-over marbles a little, Alida notes a little thinly to her Wingleader, "You want me down there?" Because, if not, the hung-over blonde's just going to remain mounted and save herself the pain.

"No, I want to stand her and crick my neck and shout," Taikrin calls back. She's got hands on her hips, now, as she stares up at Alida in exasperation. "'''Yes''', get down here. What the bloody shells you thinking lately, girl?" Szadath's low rumble, clearly amused, undercuts his rider. He extends the tip of a wing over her head, to cuff Ilicaeth in the shoulder.

"Yeah yeah..." Alida mumbles, already partially out of her straps, and sliding the last few feet down from Ilicaeth's neck to the stone beneath her boots. The jar from that and her too-quick turn to look at Taikrin have the blonde suddenly turning a mixed pair of shades of green and grey...and just as quickly she's falling to her knees and one palm while barfing up a little food and mostly bile. Sorry boss: unable to answer, right now. As for Ilicaeth... he simply heaves a massive sigh, then rumbles and jiggles a little at Szadath's cuff to his shoulder. Give her another minute or two to barf and then recover, and Alida's waveringly climbing to her feet after hawking and spitting her mouth clearer, then noting weakly over to Taikrin, "Hardly a girl. Quit bein' that at 16." Shudder. "Just another fuckin' FLight... until lord blueballs over 'ere..." cue a look over at Ilicaeth, "...decides that he's gonna do it the quick 'n ugly way."

Taikrin sighs long-sufferingly and turns once more to watch the activity in the bowl until the sounds of Alida's retching have faded. Finally, she asks, "You got a morning-head or do you reckon someone actually poisoned you?" There's a ghost of a smile on her face, despite the serious demeanor she's attempting to project. Szadath backs away from the ledge a few paces, clearing room for Taikrin to travel beneath him and to the far side. "C'mon, let's sit over here. Won't smell quite so bad, neither. That all there is to it? Nothing more personal about who you're deciding needs to be laid out and who don't?"

"Neither. Didja' get the affiliation uv' that dragon that rolled over me?" Alida quips wanly back to Taikrin, the blonde then listing over to a cleaner place with her Wingleader, where she then settles onto her ass. Carefully. Distastefully, her free hair - now slightly decorated with spittle - is twisted back and out of the way while the woman answers softly, "Nothin' personal. Ilicaeth got more fired up than usual, surprised me some. I caught all'a his frustration in one big blast...an' that fuckin' stupid brownie charged my shoulder when I was set ta run outta' there." Shrug. So, he paid for it. "His buddy came ta clock me after I laid 'im out, so she got in a free blow before I nailed her." Thusly, the black eye Alida now sports, and the swollen, bruised jaw the other female now sports.

Taikrin settles gingerly down on her haunches besides Alida, then leans her shoulder into the brown's warm hide. "You can't go around being the first to throw punches just 'cause you lost a flight," she admonishes. "No matter how charged up he's getting. When's the last time he caught, anyways? You ''got'' to manage him and his needs better. Faranth knows he comes by it honest enough, but you don't see me picking fights during green flights do you?" Szadath rumbles his amusement again, and Taikrin fondly punches his side before adding, "'''Especially''' if it means I got to get notes from '''K'del''' about it like you're a flaming weyrling."

"Yeah yeah..." Alida murmurs softly, one hand and arm huddles in guarded fashion over her midriff, the other wobblingly propping her up upon cold stone. A narrow of bloodshot greens presages more quiet, "He's never won." A loud chuff from the blue might just say, 'Not *yet.*' For the rest of Taikrin's words comes a low, slightly irritated, "Been managin' 'em just fine...until 'e got all ugly." A crochety sound emerges from her blue at that point, to which Alida has to grimace-grin. "That's what prissy-pant K'del don' get: I *have* been keepin' order in my own house all this fuckin' time. Keepin' the brakes on me 'n Ilicaeth both...'r him on himself 'n me." Hawk, spit, blegh. "We work perfect...a team." Shiver. "Until *that* time, when we both slipped ta'gether. Just *once*...an' now we're the 'uncontrolled' ones." She sounds weak, bitter, pissy.

"What, never?" Taikrin sounds appalled -- IS appalled at that; she gapes openly. "He's '''how''' many turns old? Bloody shells woman, go make friends with a greenrider and get that done with. No flaming wonder the pair of you're out of control. Are you holdbred? I don't remember." She squints at Alida, as if the answer might be written on the woman's forehead. "You're lucky worse ain't happened if you've been holding him back like that. Letting it get so bad you're punching people-- that '''is''' out of control. K'del ain't wrong, as much as I wish he was. If he's got a drive that bad, he ought to be catching every three... maybe six months, seeing as how he's blue. A good goldflight'd chase it out of him, but I reckon that ain't much of any option."

To Taikrin's appalled words come Alida's suddenly angry ones: "I *don' like* bein' out uv control!" She can't yell at this juncture, but the heat in her words is unmistakable. "Ya' *see* what happens if both uv us slip outta' it at the same time! An' *he* can't control 'imself, uv course." Not during a Flight. As for the other things Taikrin seems to imply... "I've screwed already." Glower, hiss. Ilicaeth's eyes sport little flecks of orange and yellow, but he's a steady rock beside Szadath, the blue angling his head down slowly so he can provide support for his weakened rider, if she wants it. "He's gotta' drive, yeah... but not constant. Enough, but not near-crazed...like 'e was yesterday." As to words of a goldflight...it's only Ilicaeth who responds, his craggy self giving a sudden bit of a hum.

"It ain't about you screwing. It's about him. You clearly are '''not''' managing his needs if he's got bursts like that. Who do you think you're talking to, exactly? You think I ain't dealt with a dragon who gets a little wild about flights? You have him catching every now and then, you ain't going to have to worry about him controlling himself. It ain't going to come all spilling out of him and into you if you keep that shit under control. Don't they teach this in weyrling class or something? Faranth." The brown himself doesn't so much as twitch, though his eyes are brilliant with amusement. "Do I got to schedule this for you? How often you got to wash your dragon, how often you feed him, how often you chase and how often you make sure he catches? It's all the same thing."

If she were younger, less tried by life, and less sick, Alida might glower and hiss at Taikrin. At this juncture, however, all she can do is mutter to herself, stare out at the air before her, and remain silent. Apparently, self-control reaches quite new heights when enforced by the blonde: all-or-nothing. "Fuck off..." the hung-over bitch mutters weakly to the other woman, then slowly moving so she can stare daggers into Ilicaeth's nearest eye. Muttered low: "Find yerself a willin' green who thinks yer the best guy this side 'a the continent, 'n get 'er alone, manwhore." Glare. "Quit goin' after all the ones ya gotta' cajole." A creaking sound emerges from Ilicaeth's throat at that, and he somehow manages to look pleased.

Dragon> Still irked, but also darkly humored, << I told 'er it'd come ta this. Silly humans. >> He *would* get his way, sooner or later. (To Szadath from Ilicaeth)

A snort of laughter escapes before Taikrin can stop herself. "Don't leave it to '''him''' to set it up. Dragons are flaming terrible at that. Go and find yourself a friendly greenrider and throw yourself on her mercy, for Faranth's sake. I got a couple who owe me a favor who might oblige if you offer something good. Or look pathetic enough." The way Taikrin is eyeing Alida right now, she might be sizing up just how pathetic Alida looks. "Speaking of offering, you got to make it up to those two you laid out, too. You even know their names?"

Dragon> To Ilicaeth, Szadath curls smoke, beyond amused. << Sometimes they are very stupid about things when they are not flying regularly. >>

"He's better at it than *I* am..." is grumbled out sourly, Alida then giving up a little of her precious dignity and leaning against Ilicaeth's head so she can save precious energy. "I don' throw myself on *anybody*." Mutter. She does look at least partially pathetic, given her hang-over, but that odd hint of blue-blooded arrogance about her features, and the martial look in those green eyes partially ruin it. And then it's back to a different kind of reality, the blonde only nodding to Taikrin, then adding, "If ya want me ta apologize truthfully... it ain't gonna work. I'm *not* sorry I layed inta them."

"I don't care a cracked shell if you're sorry to '''them'''. You ought to be sharding well sorry to me for having to deal with your sorry ass AND how I'm going to have to go and deal with K'del after you made me look bad AND about how you made all your wingmates look bad." Taikrin's exasperation returns full-force. "Lie, cheat, I don't care '''what''' you do, but you're going to give me their names and their wingleader's names and you're going go and grovel or make excuses or whatever it is you have to do to make it up to them. Buy them sweets and flowers for all I care. Do their chores. Whatever, just get it done. And '''soon'''." She rakes a critical eye across Alida once more. "Maybe they'll take pity on you way you are now, I dunno. That card's not mine to play."

"Lies it is, then..." Alida mutters mostly to herself as Taikrin growls at her, then blonde finally noting after the rant is done, "Yeah, okay. I *am* sorry that *you* inherited it." Happy now? At least she's being truthful. The look in greens says it all, though: Fuck doing their chores. As for pity... well, *that* gets her dander up, and the flare if indignation in greens is quite visible. Alida bodily hauls herself up with shaking hands along Ilicaeth's muzzle - the blue holding himself still to not hamper her - and then shakily moves towards his neck. "It'll get done..." is growled out as loud as she can manage, which is rather less forceful than usual. "Am I dismissed?" Testy-testy.

"Yeah, off with you. Go dump yourself in a lake, then take an hour in the hot springs. You'll feel better. THEN go deal with your mess." Taikrin moves smoothly to her feet, in stark contrast to Alida's suffering. "I'll talk to K'del about this flights business, but you owe me a good bottle of whisky for it." Her lips are quirked: is she teasing? Serious? Both?"

A sloppy, but earnest salute is given to Taikrin (since Alida respects *her*), the blonde then letting Ilicaeth turn a front paw up so she can sit on it and have him hoist her to his neck. She's too uncertain in balance and too weak right now to test a typical mounting, especially on the Star Stones. "Fuck K'del. Let 'im keep 'is fuckin' britches in a bind." Pause, lip-twist. "Unless yer just jonesin' fer a new Turn uv' whiskey, uv course, an' lookin' fer the best excuse." Smirkie.

"You let ME worry about how to deal with K'del. Go on, get out of here. I'm tired of looking at your pathetic face." Taikrin makes a shooing motion, though she wears a smirk to match.

"She loves me..." Alida quips blandly at Taikrin, then flipping her a weak bird before she slowly hauls herself into place between Ilicaeth's ridges. A pair of safety straps is snapped into place before the blue stands to his full height again, and edges slowly away from Szadath...though he does offer the brown a warble of slowly-rising spirits and farewell. Soon enough, said blue is falling with outspread wings from the 'Stones to ease takeoff on his rider, and gliding down towards the Bowl to insist his hard-headed rider take that long soak.

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Logs:Terrifying the Next Generation

2013-05-08T05:24:25Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Telavi, Taikrin | where = Council Chambers, HRW | what = Telavi shows up to a cancelled wingleader meeting following the threadfall drills. Taikrin shares some ..."

{{ Log
| who = Telavi, Taikrin
| where = Council Chambers, HRW
| what = Telavi shows up to a cancelled wingleader meeting following the threadfall drills. Taikrin shares some 'wisdom' with her.
| when = Day 17, Month 9, Turn 31 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2013.05.06
| quote =
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions = Quinlys, Meara
| ooc =
| icons = telavi,jpg, taikrin_weyrleader.jpg
| log =

After the fireworks of the last few days (mock threadfalls! wings in rebellion! queens at large!) one might expect the Wingleader meeting to be spectacularly noisy. Except-- it's not. About ten minutes before meeting time and the council chamber is ominously silent. Then: the creak of a chair, and heavy footsteps pacing rapidly, back and forth, back and forth. There's a mild curse, in the deep throaty voice that is unmistakeably Taikrin: at least ''someone'' is here?

Tela listens, and Tela waits, and Tela glances back over her shoulder. But then... why not? She touches her supplies bag's shoulder strap for good luck, her pert cap for good measure, and lightly enters with the air of someone who hadn't noticed a thing. She can look surprised when she gets there.

"Faranth help me if you ain't--" Whatever Taikrin had been so hotly threatening is lost as she turns and stares blankly at Telavi. For a moment, she doesn't seem to place the weyrling at all. Then, to herself, "Weyrling. We didn't tell the weyrlings. Faranth." A note of weariness enters her voice as she gestures towards the occupantless table with its maps and scattered documents. "You're--- Tela? Telavi? Here for the meeting, yeah?"

"Yes, Weyrleader," Tela says with a dip of her head, all nice and neat and schoolgirlish, even what would ordinarily be a wide smile of greeting become a worried nip to her lower lip. Her blue-green gaze takes in the room, takes in ''Taikrin'', and with new composure she moves to the table with its empty chairs... perhaps coincidentally, behind ''Snowdrift's'', setting her hands atop the back of Mielline's seat with a subtly possessive air. "Let me guess, something's come up, sir?" Sir. Never, ever ''ma'am''.

"It did-- forgot to let you lot know about it. Sorry." For a moment, there's a hint of the old Taikrin who loved nothing more than flirting with teenage girls: the crooked smile, the easy tone. But as she looks back over the table, the weight of leadership crushes a sigh out of her. "Meetings're cancelled this week so the wings can recover and review what's what from the drills." As her gaze lingers on the charts, she adds absently, "I was just marking up worked and not. You're welcome to look, since you're here already. Don't want Meara and Quinlys saying I ain't teaching you lot nothing."

"''Nothing'' to worry about... sir," and the title can sound so good in Tela's soft voice, her quick assurance. Not that the older woman's shift in mood goes unnoticed, and her nod is quick, too. She understands. "Thank you. And if there's anything at all I can do to help," and that could be so very presumptuous from a weyrling to her Weyrleader, and yet there's that soft, deferential warmth in her voice again, "please do say the word. A message carried, food sent, anything, really." That doesn't slow her from reaching for the nearest chart, either, and if there's any pause she'll look that over. "It sounds... eventful. I don't know if I should wish we could have been there." That's a little lower, a little less soft, less like a ''girl''.

"We'll have to to it again, once we get you lot flying regularly. Never mind what you hear, this is what dragonriders were meant to ''do''-- and don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise. ''Dragonmen must fly / when threads are in the sky'', right?" Taikrin goes momentarily intense, and there's a banked passion in the gaze she fixes on Telavi: whatever else, the Weyrleader is a true believer. "Appreciate the offer. Seems like there ain't enough hours in the day, lately. I'll see what I can do. I remember what it was like, being a silver thread. Needing to ''know''. Me and Szadath, we liked the charts the best." She nudges one over, this one marked and marked again with notations; at the top, it's labeled 'Tillek'. "Here's another, from earlier."

"Yes. Of ''course''." This isn't Telavi playing the game, this is weyrbred Telavi, surprised and possibly a touch horrified that that could be thought of otherwise... especially under the not-inconsiderable impact of Taikrin's ''belief''. She's quick to take that second chart, to compare the two, to look for what stands out and for what they mean. Without looking up beyond a quick flicker of a glance, "It's hard to imagine you two in someone's charge, instead of being in charge." She's seen Taikrin in action, ''felt'' Szadath wield queenly influence with aggressive belief of his own.

A testament to the times that, though Taikrin smiles under the praise, there's also suspicion in her gaze. "Everyone's got to start somewhere. Weren't our time until now. One day it'll be your time, I reckon. It's our job to train you up to make sure you can take it when it comes." She's digging idly through the rest of the charts; by the time she's finished speaking, she's produced the record from the first mock threadfall for Tela to review.

There's no guilty aversion of Tela's gaze, though that suspicion meets with a press of her lips, more discomforted than anything. Her voice stays low. "''Do'' you think so?" the weyrling asks, simply. "For you, it's one thing, but Sabella and me, even Quielle. Especially Solith, she isn't... well, she isn't very leader-ly. I'm not sure how we'd handle stronger dragons."

"They're just babies yet. Maybe they'll grow into themselves, yeah? Especially the greens-- greens are different once they've flown, seems to me. And even if they ain't..." Taikrin shrugs, unconcerned, and offers an attempt at a crooked smile. "... a rider with guts can more'n make up for a timid dragon. Don't you stress too much about it. Meara and Quinlys knew what they were about when they picked you lot."

Tela's all ears, given the way she can't help but lean slightly over the chair even as she examines the records, and the way her eyes flicker at certain phrases. '' '''Especially''' the greens. Guts. Don't you stress. Knew.'' She says, "I hope so," with more than a little fervor. But then her tone changes, and though there's question there, it barely flavors what's very close to certainty. "These aren't standard formations, are they. Or, at least, I don't recognize them," and she doesn't say that as though it's a likely failing on her part. Her eyes lift. "If this had been the real thing, letting that much through, Tillek would have been in trouble."

"Variations on a theme. Half the fun in doing a drill like this is trying out new things. Some of them are pretty boring-- see here, with Equinox? They didn't have much of a hole to plug. But Glacier was picking up slack for Avalanche, and since they've gotten so good at flying close formation we were able to slot in under?" She shifts from the second to the third chart, and scoffs, "Tillek would have been in a ''lot'' of trouble." She looks like she wants to say more, but then thinks better of it. After a moment's hesitation she says instead, "This is why we practice. To find the holes, and make them better. Been too long since the whole Weyr practiced together-- two hundred turns is a long time to preserve the knowledge... and Faranth help us if we get another comet pass. Were you old enough to remember that?"

Tela's very intent, quick to scan for what the Weyrleader's talking about, nodding. Though she glances up into that hesitation, she doesn't ask. "I don't know if I ''remember'', or if I've only heard stories and made them into 'memories'... but growing up there were always riders and dragons who'd been 'scored, others who weren't just riders who'd lost their people," she says quietly. "I'd have to fit clothing with fabrics that would be soft on scars, that would be easy to get on and off without an arm, without a leg." She hesitates, looking up at Taikrin. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Taikrin is quiet, thoughtful, as she considers Telavi's story. "We've got quite a few here, obviously. Szad and I were a few turns too late." She sighs, as if this were a great tragedy, then allows. "Go ahead. What's on your mind?"

It registers with a brief smile, though not as though Tela's finding it ''funny''. "Thank you. Sir. It's that... some people are saying," and she must have an inkling how that must sound, given the visible discomfort with which she straightens the records, "that some of them didn't show up not because they were told to, but because they just... refused. And that the queens made the rest." If Taikrin even lets her get this far, "Some of them even ask me. Because, you know. I don't know what I should say." She doesn't ask for the ''truth''.

It takes Taikrin a bit to compose an answer; in the meantime, her lips thin and faint splotches of pink appear in her cheeks even now. "You been to a few meetings by now," she begins, poorly suppressed heat in her voice. "You know some of us ain't playing on the same team. Some bronzeriders got the idea in their heads that they don't got to listen to orders, that they can throw a fit and do what they want and nobody gets to tell them what to do because they're so special. They started convincing the ones what look to them for guidance." Her sticks-accent is thick enough to spread on toast; she must be angry indeed. "You should say you don't support temper tantrums. A Weyr ain't like a crafthall. We got to listen to chain of command, or people ''die''."

The flip side of Taikrin's charisma is how Tela can't help but respond to her now, the weyrling's blue-green eyes wider, her hands tighter about the hidework. She may hold back from an actual flinch, but she very much does use Mielline's chair for support, pressing into the hardwood, and there's a slight tic developing in her temple where it's crossed by her cap. "Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to... say that." She takes a deeper breath, and when she resumes her voice is that much more methodical, that much more in her control. "Is there anything else you'd like?" May she flee now?

"No," Taikrin says as she attempts to reel her temper back in. "You're welcome. Let me know if you'd like another go at the charts. I'm keeping 'em in my weyr for a bit. You're welcome to go over them. Bring your friends. Make it a party." Taikrin snorts a rueful laugh, as if that were a joke of some significance. "Clear skies, weyrling."

All that's reassuring, and Telavi's glad to be reassured, that 'joke' earning Taikrin a look that's by now mostly just bemused. She glances down at her own hands before realizing and putting the records hurriedly down upon the table; then she neatens them too, the way they sit, and all but chirps, "Clear skies, Weyrleader." Tela may back up a few slow steps before turning out of the other woman's presence, but... at least she doesn't run?

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Logs talk:Wingsecond

2013-04-08T06:43:29Z

Taikrin: Comment provided by Taikrin - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on "[[Logs:Wingsecond]]"
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[[Azaylia/Comments|Azaylia]] ([[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])) left a comment on Sun, 07 Apr 2013 22:57:14 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-07T22:57:14Z" name="Azaylia" signature="[[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])">
Aww! This feels exactly like the sort of boost K'del needs. <3 And given the givens, it's a pretty snazzy turnday gift, too!
</comment>
[[Zian/Comments|Zian]] ([[User:Zian|Zian]] ([[User talk:Zian|talk]])) left a comment on Mon, 08 Apr 2013 00:10:25 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-08T00:10:25Z" name="Zian" signature="[[User:Zian|Zian]] ([[User talk:Zian|talk]])">
<3
</comment>
[[Taikrin/Comments|Taikrin]] ([[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])) left a comment on Mon, 08 Apr 2013 06:43:28 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-08T06:43:28Z" name="Taikrin" signature="[[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])">
SQUASH SQUASH SQUASH.
</comment>

Logs talk:Daehyeth's Flight

2013-04-08T06:41:13Z

Taikrin: Comment provided by Taikrin - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on "[[Logs:Daehyeth's Flight]]"
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[[Azaylia/Comments|Azaylia]] ([[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])) left a comment on Wed, 03 Apr 2013 06:10:16 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-03T06:10:16Z" name="Azaylia" signature="[[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])">
I was in ''stitches''. You're all terrible and I love you for it. <3
</comment>
[[K'zin/Comments|K'zin]] ([[User:Wakizian|Wakizian]] ([[User talk:Wakizian|talk]])) left a comment on Wed, 03 Apr 2013 08:23:18 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-03T08:23:18Z" name="K'zin" signature="[[User:Wakizian|Wakizian]] ([[User talk:Wakizian|talk]])">
Ditto! That was AWESOME!!
</comment>
[[Aishani/Comments|Aishani]] ([[User:Brieli|Brieli]] ([[User talk:Brieli|talk]])) left a comment on Wed, 03 Apr 2013 17:25:28 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-03T17:25:28Z" name="Aishani" signature="[[User:Brieli|Brieli]] ([[User talk:Brieli|talk]])">
The dragon has a name, you know!

Awesome. I don't know whether to shake my fist at Lia or point and laugh.
</comment>
[[Taikrin/Comments|Taikrin]] ([[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])) left a comment on Mon, 08 Apr 2013 06:41:13 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-08T06:41:13Z" name="Taikrin" signature="[[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])">
Man, you're supposed to be chasing Lia and yet all you guys want to do is fuck Taikrin!
</comment>

Logs talk:Wings In Resistance

2013-04-08T06:28:08Z

Taikrin: Comment provided by Taikrin - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on "[[Logs:Wings In Resistance]]"
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[[Azaylia/Comments|Azaylia]] ([[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])) left a comment on Mon, 08 Apr 2013 04:23:58 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-08T04:23:58Z" name="Azaylia" signature="[[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])">
Smooth move, K'del. Let's ''not'' joke about that, huh? *laughs* Still, small victories (dunno if you'd call Wingsecond small) are still victories! K'del needs to be swept up by his Romeo Z'ian and whisked off to drink the night away. Le sigh. <3
I also love getting to see what the Wings think about Taikrin. Always juicy. :D
</comment>
[[Taikrin/Comments|Taikrin]] ([[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])) left a comment on Mon, 08 Apr 2013 06:28:08 GMT.

<comment date="2013-04-08T06:28:08Z" name="Taikrin" signature="[[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])">
Smooth walls.
</comment>

File:Icon taikrin weyrleader.jpg

2013-03-26T06:38:05Z

Taikrin: Taikrin moved page File:Taikrin weyrleader.jpg to File:Icon taikrin weyrleader.jpg

File:Taikrin weyrleader.jpg

2013-03-26T06:38:05Z

Taikrin: Taikrin moved page File:Taikrin weyrleader.jpg to File:Icon taikrin weyrleader.jpg

#REDIRECT [[File:Icon taikrin weyrleader.jpg]]

Logs:Insubordination

2013-03-26T06:35:07Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Lia, Taikrin
| where = Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Parts of Boreal have decided that they get to sit at the Weyrleader's table. That shit don't fly with Taikrin.
| when = Lunchtime, Day 24, Month 4, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.03.25
| quote = Afternoon, Taikrin. How were Tillek's dock wenches last night?
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = K'del, Z'ian, Azaylia, Aishani
| ooc =
| icons = lia.jpg, taikrin_weyrleader.jpg
| log =

It's lunch a few days after the yelling at the lake side and the second day Boreal's lounging at the Weyrleaders' table. Well, some of Boreal. Six of them to be exact, including one Lia, who's paring a pear with a short knife. It seems to be some sort of contest between her and Naivanth's rider, Maraya; with the other four, one blue, and two bronzeriders, looking on indulgently. Their lunch has been done, the half-eaten plates shoved into the center, and while many Glacier riders give them '''''looks''''', this fragment of Boreal feigns not noticing.

Yesterday, Taikrin was nowhere to be found: out causing problems at Crom Hold some claim, while others insist she was seen drinking and whoring her lunch away at Tillek. While the truth is probably more boring (meetings), that doesn't stop the whispers of rumor... not that Taikrin minds. Or notices. Today she's here, albeit a tired (hungover?) as she schleps her surprisingly sparse plate of food in lockstep with an older bronzerider wearing Glacier's knots. "-- so we'll see." He notices the occupants before she does, and hesitates a pace away from the table to see what she does. "-- oh. Hey," she addresses the table, part bemused and part amused. "Did I forget I was hosting a party today?"

There's a certain insolence in Maraya's expression as Glacier's wingleader approaches -- just enough of a shift in her stocky features to imply she notices, even if the entire bunch pretends to not. "It's all in the flick of the wrist," opines Lia, demonstrating her technique with the tiny little boot knife and how she can peel an entire pear in one long, beautiful string of skin. Her leg lifts so her boot heel can find the empty seat next to her to rest against as she sets her perfectly pared fruit onto her knee in a careful balancing act. Over it, she considers Taikrin, but it's E'mar that speaks first, a breeziness to his baritone as he flashes the wingleader a charming bronzeriderly smile, "Afternoon, Taikrin. How were Tillek's dock wenches last night?"

Without missing a beat, Taikrin responds, "Not as good as your mother was, E'mar." She's all toothy grins as she errantly slides away an empty plate to set her own down. Over her shoulder, K'tan is stone-faced glaring around the table, in particular at his fellow bronzeriders-- not that Taikrin seems to notice. "Sad to say, I ain't buying you all drinks if that's what you're hanging around for. Come do a couple of drills with Glacier, maybe we'll talk. Anything else I can do for you lot?"

"So that's what she was yammering about this morning." E'mer doesn't miss a beat either, that charming smile turning just a smidgeon smarmy, if it wasn't before. There's even laughter at his long-departed mother's expense. "Not looking for a drink, begins the bronzerider, but is cut off shortly by Lia's quiet, even words, "This is our table now." There's nothing more to it. She tosses the peeled fruit at K'tan in a low underhand throw, and then reaches to the middle of the table and the fruit bowl there, to start on a redfruit.

Taikrin is willing to play this game-- she laughs along with the table, ready to continue humoring them, but then Lia interjects. "Come again?" She's still smiling, but it's one of disbelief. K'tan eyes the fruit, but makes no effort to catch it. It bounces off his thigh and rolls to the ground.

"There's no weyrwoman," continues Lia's absolutely placid voice. A steady beat is kept by the rotations of the fruit holding hand as the knife doesn't move. "So there's no Weyrleader. The exile didn't have the time to designate an acting weyrwoman in her place. In our opinion," that serene face lifts, her head tilting to one side as she looks steadily at K'tan and then down at the pear that rolls away in pity, "That means the acting weyrwoman title should go to the senior most goldrider, which is, unfortunately, Azaylia. ''She'' didn't designate you Weyrleader, did she? Your brown just had the misfortune of winning her gold's flight and yet she still didn't see fit to make you her Weyrleader. Figures though, criminals like to promote each other's best interests, don't they?" The others in the group go silent, even the cocky E'mer, though Lia's last words cause a discomforted twitch in his expression.

Taikrin's expression, complete with that disbelieving smile grows frozen. Fixed. K'tan looks not so much affronted on his wingleader's behalf as wearily resigned. There's deep, ominous silence for a moment, then a snort of laughter. "Flaming good thing you're cute, ain't it Lia?" The humor doesn't touch Taikrin's eyes. She fixes each of the riders in turn with a cold, hard look that's at odds with the lightness in the way she asks, "She speaks for all of you, then? All of a like mind?" The brownrider is very, very still.

There are just some words that sound odd coming out of Lia's mouth, yelling at the lake notwithstanding. And there are just some words that sound odd with such even, emotionless inflects, "Do you plan on fucking the mutiny out of me, Taikrin?" The humor void in her voice (and in Taikrin's face) lights up her eyes in a reversed mirror. Clearly, Lia's the spokesperson of the set, perhaps the most eloquent, or maybe just the least afraid. Not that the others back down as they sit a little straighter in their claimed seats.

"Reckon I like my fingers too much to have you biting them off." It's funny how she can keep her voice so carefree when every muscle in her body has clearly tensed into a knot. "Anyways, you're going to be too dirty for me to touch when you finish all the mucking you're going to be doing over the next sevenday. Everyone who wants to share in a little wing solidarity is welcome to stay sitting while we eat our lunch-- if you prefer not smelling like a latrine, I reckon Z'ian's likely got work for you if you hop to it ''quick''." K'tan isn't even looking at the table anymore-- he's made eye contact with the nearby table of Glacier riders, and judging from the abbreviated gestures and partly-glazed looks, there's a lot of dragon-talk filling the airwaves.

Lia lifts a brow. Careful to put down the knife she's holding and the half-peeled redfruit (whose peel, coincidentally, is still in one piece attached), the greenrider sinks into her seat and looks up to Taikrin with a pitying half smile, but says nothing. The others? L'fan, the stalwart bluerider who, despite a rider's lifestyle, could stand to lose many pounds, gets to his feet. "We don't want to fight you Taikrin. But just acknowledge that ''Brieli'' isn't Weyrwoman, that High Reaches doesn't have an actual Weyrwoman. And we'll go."

"''Aishani'' is the acting Weyrwoman, until one or the other gold rises again. She and Azaylia ''both'' appointed me acting Weyrleader, again until one or the other gold rises. And whichever one you like, they ''both'' picked me so that's what you got to deal with. Or are you questioning the golds? Maybe you think there's something wrong with High Reaches queens?" Despite herself, Taikrin's voice is rising in volume and there are spots of pink in her pale cheeks. "'Cause maybe it sounds to me like a you all of a sudden got big ideas of yourselves, questioning thousands of turns of tradition about our how we all ''serve the queens'' above all."

Taikrin can speak all she wants, Lia's not responding. She doesn't even appear to be listening, though that half-smile hovers about her lips. Instead, once the brownrider is finished, the greenrider reclaims the redfruit and resumes peeling it. "I've heard the weather at Ista this time of year is atrociously humid. Have you been, Maraya?" E'mar looks between the two women and shifts, "Look, Tai," he says all too familiarly, "This kind of situation has never happened before. Where y'know, two golds rise and no one knows who rose first and they both picked brownriders. K'del told Lia that she should do something instead of waiting for other people to act on their beliefs and... we can't abide by a Vijay being Weyrwoman. Acting or not. It's not right."

Dragon> Thump, thump, thump. Despite the human's posturing, it is from ''Hraedhyth'' that Szadath draws his presumed authority. In the brown, it's a dizzyingly cold array of noise and echoes when he interjects with the force of a hammer on Daehyeth and her cohorts: << ENOUGH. >> No subtlety here. (Szadath to Daehyeth)

Dragon> The chaos of sping blossoms being strewn everywhere is thrown into further disarray at Szadath's interjection and the startled green is cowed almost immediately; the bronzes, however, are another story, and they bristle, but make no noise themselves. Their riders on the other hand? In the real world, rather than the dragon mental world, there's a tightening to Lia's face, a wince suppressed, while the other riders make other signs of discomfort. (Daehyeth to Szadath)

"Weyrleader. I am your ''Weyrleader''. You can take advice from someone who's dragon ''couldn't'' catch a gold all you like, but this ain't a crafthall. You don't get to ''choose'' who you follow. The golds choose. The golds chose me and Szadath so you can get the ''fuck'' out of the way while I do my job, or you can get the ''fuck'' out of my Weyr. Are we clear?" Though Taikrin remains eerily still, all of the Glacier riders have gotten out of their seats and K'tan is rubbing his knuckles thoughtfully.

"You're a brownrider who's a ''girl''," in this, E'mar isn't so political. It's said with all the frustrated force of a man whose bronze has never won a gold. "Fucking hell, Taikrin. Weyrleaders ''arent'' woman. That's Tradition too." Lia exhales audibly and puts her fruit and knife down again. There's only six of them and while E'mar and the bluerider are standing, the other four remain seated.

"Yeah, well, when you catch a gold you can make it into Weyr law. 'Til then, I ain't debating this with you. The ''Weyrleader'' don't debate with ''wingriders''. Up and out or up and ''out'', or I swear on Szadath's shell I will have you cleaning latrines for so long you'll come begging me to kick your asses instead." Taikrin moves, finally, though only to curl her fists menacingly around the back of an empty chair. Nobody else has moved much, except that that cluster of Glacier riders has drawn closer together in solidarity.

"You," Lia begins, then stops. But then immediately starts up again, "Talk a lot for someone who's not debating. How are you going to enforce anything when you're only known for how much you can drink, how fast your fists fly, and who you've fucked. The ''Vijay'' made you Weyrleader for reasons that probably had to do with finishing what her father started and destroy the Weyr. Why else would she pick someone so unfit for the position as you. I don't follow you." But she does stand after that. "If Z'ian sees fit to punish me, I'll take it. But you? We don't follow you. We grinned and beared it enough following that exile." E'mar, L'fan, and the other males can stick around, Lia's going along with Maraya.

Dragon> When Szadath returns, ebbing back in with the tide, he's not alone. Or rather, he ''is'' alone, but bolstered along by what feels like a weak mesh net flung across the dragons who have submitted to follow him-- mostly Glacier, but also parts of quite a few other wings. << You are done, >> he booms, thrumming with ice-hot anger. << Grounded to the Weyr until we say otherwise. >> And, underneath it all, pounds his presumption upon Hraedhyth's authority in sharp rhythm. (Szadath to Daehyeth)

Weyrleaders do not punch people. Even back-talking greenriders. But oh, Taikrin is going to have splinters in her hands for how hard she's clenching the well-worn wood of that chair. "Get out of my sight before I ship you off to Telgar. NOW." That last bit is roared, easily loud enough to garner the attention of any who might have been oblivious to the brewing confrontation-- and despite a few shared dubious looks amongst themselves, her wing backs her play.

Dragon> The bronzes don't take to this well, but find themselves unable to disobey this command via Hraedhyth. The other dragons have less fight in them, and Daehyeth? A little luminescent light flickers midst her blossoms, an other worldly little glow, that struggles to stay alive before flickering out. For now. (Daehyeth to Szadath)

Lia's half way to the door already. E'mar? L'fan? The remaining male riders? Punching first would not be right, right? Whoever they're getting their cues from, cause clearly, they're not bright enough to just go at it alone, finally gets through to them to turn heel and exit. But tomorrow's another day; and possibly another fight.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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File:Icon taikrin weyrleader.jpg

2013-03-26T06:21:10Z

Taikrin:

Logs:Insubordination

2013-03-26T06:12:48Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Lia, Taikrin | where = Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr | what = Parts of Boreal have decided that they get to sit at the Weyrleader's table. That shit don't f..."

{{ Log
| who = Lia, Taikrin
| where = Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Parts of Boreal have decided that they get to sit at the Weyrleader's table. That shit don't fly with Taikrin.
| when = Lunchtime, Day 24, Month 4, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2012.03.25
| quote = Afternoon, Taikrin. How were Tillek's dock wenches last night?
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = K'del, Z'ian, Azaylia, Aishani
| ooc =
| icons = lia.jpg, taikrin_weyrleader.jpg
| log =

It's lunch a few days after the yelling at the lake side and the second day Boreal's lounging at the Weyrleaders' table. Well, some of Boreal. Six of them to be exact, including one Lia, who's paring a pear with a short knife. It seems to be some sort of contest between her and Naivanth's rider, Maraya; with the other four, one blue, and two bronzeriders, looking on indulgently. Their lunch has been done, the half-eaten plates shoved into the center, and while many Glacier riders give them '''''looks''''', this fragment of Boreal feigns not noticing.

Yesterday, Taikrin was nowhere to be found: out causing problems at Crom Hold some claim, while others insist she was seen drinking and whoring her lunch away at Tillek. While the truth is probably more boring (meetings), that doesn't stop the whispers of rumor... not that Taikrin minds. Or notices. Today she's here, albeit a tired (hungover?) as she schleps her surprisingly sparse plate of food in lockstep with an older bronzerider wearing Glacier's knots. "-- so we'll see." He notices the occupants before she does, and hesitates a pace away from the table to see what she does. "-- oh. Hey," she addresses the table, part bemused and part amused. "Did I forget I was hosting a party today?"

There's a certain insolence in Maraya's expression as Glacier's wingleader approaches -- just enough of a shift in her stocky features to imply she notices, even if the entire bunch pretends to not. "It's all in the flick of the wrist," opines Lia, demonstrating her technique with the tiny little boot knife and how she can peel an entire pear in one long, beautiful string of skin. Her leg lifts so her boot heel can find the empty seat next to her to rest against as she sets her perfectly pared fruit onto her knee in a careful balancing act. Over it, she considers Taikrin, but it's E'mar that speaks first, a breeziness to his baritone as he flashes the wingleader a charming bronzeriderly smile, "Afternoon, Taikrin. How were Tillek's dock wenches last night?"

Without missing a beat, Taikrin responds, "Not as good as your mother was, E'mar." She's all toothy grins as she errantly slides away an empty plate to set her own down. Over her shoulder, K'tan is stone-faced glaring around the table, in particular at his fellow bronzeriders-- not that Taikrin seems to notice. "Sad to say, I ain't buying you all drinks if that's what you're hanging around for. Come do a couple of drills with Glacier, maybe we'll talk. Anything else I can do for you lot?"

"So that's what she was yammering about this morning." E'mer doesn't miss a beat either, that charming smile turning just a smidgeon smarmy, if it wasn't before. There's even laughter at his long-departed mother's expense. "Not looking for a drink, begins the bronzerider, but is cut off shortly by Lia's quiet, even words, "This is our table now." There's nothing more to it. She tosses the peeled fruit at K'tan in a low underhand throw, and then reaches to the middle of the table and the fruit bowl there, to start on a redfruit.

Taikrin is willing to play this game-- she laughs along with the table, ready to continue humoring them, but then Lia interjects. "Come again?" She's still smiling, but it's one of disbelief. K'tan eyes the fruit, but makes no effort to catch it. It bounces off his thigh and rolls to the ground.
Long distance to Azaylia: Taikrin very much appreciates it! And I do want to BURN IT ALL! I don't have a super tight timeline on anything, though I'd like to have things rounding to a head in the next month or two? Maybe a bit longer?

"There's no weyrwoman," continues Lia's absolutely placid voice. A steady beat is kept by the rotations of the fruit holding hand as the knife doesn't move. "So there's no Weyrleader. The exile didn't have the time to designate an acting weyrwoman in her place. In our opinion," that serene face lifts, her head tilting to one side as she looks steadily at K'tan and then down at the pear that rolls away in pity, "That means the acting weyrwoman title should go to the senior most goldrider, which is, unfortunately, Azaylia. ''She'' didn't designate you Weyrleader, did she? Your brown just had the misfortune of winning her gold's flight and yet she still didn't see fit to make you her Weyrleader. Figures though, criminals like to promote each other's best interests, don't they?" The others in the group go silent, even the cocky E'mer, though Lia's last words cause a discomforted twitch in his expression.

Taikrin's expression, complete with that disbelieving smile grows frozen. Fixed. K'tan looks not so much affronted on his wingleader's behalf as wearily resigned. There's deep, ominous silence for a moment, then a snort of laughter. "Flaming good thing you're cute, ain't it Lia?" The humor doesn't touch Taikrin's eyes. She fixes each of the riders in turn with a cold, hard look that's at odds with the lightness in the way she asks, "She speaks for all of you, then? All of a like mind?" The brownrider is very, very still.

There are just some words that sound odd coming out of Lia's mouth, yelling at the lake notwithstanding. And there are just some words that sound odd with such even, emotionless inflects, "Do you plan on fucking the mutiny out of me, Taikrin?" The humor void in her voice (and in Taikrin's face) lights up her eyes in a reversed mirror. Clearly, Lia's the spokesperson of the set, perhaps the most eloquent, or maybe just the least afraid. Not that the others back down as they sit a little straighter in their claimed seats.

"Reckon I like my fingers too much to have you biting them off." It's funny how she can keep her voice so carefree when every muscle in her body has clearly tensed into a knot. "Anyways, you're going to be too dirty for me to touch when you finish all the mucking you're going to be doing over the next sevenday. Everyone who wants to share in a little wing solidarity is welcome to stay sitting while we eat our lunch-- if you prefer not smelling like a latrine, I reckon Z'ian's likely got work for you if you hop to it ''quick''." K'tan isn't even looking at the table anymore-- he's made eye contact with the nearby table of Glacier riders, and judging from the abbreviated gestures and partly-glazed looks, there's a lot of dragon-talk filling the airwaves.

Lia lifts a brow. Careful to put down the knife she's holding and the half-peeled redfruit (whose peel, coincidentally, is still in one piece attached), the greenrider sinks into her seat and looks up to Taikrin with a pitying half smile, but says nothing. The others? L'fan, the stalwart bluerider who, despite a rider's lifestyle, could stand to lose many pounds, gets to his feet. "We don't want to fight you Taikrin. But just acknowledge that ''Brieli'' isn't Weyrwoman, that High Reaches doesn't have an actual Weyrwoman. And we'll go."

"''Aishani'' is the acting Weyrwoman, until one or the other gold rises again. She and Azaylia ''both'' appointed me acting Weyrleader, again until one or the other gold rises. And whichever one you like, they ''both'' picked me so that's what you got to deal with. Or are you questioning the golds? Maybe you think there's something wrong with High Reaches queens?" Despite herself, Taikrin's voice is rising in volume and there are spots of pink in her pale cheeks. "'Cause maybe it sounds to me like a you all of a sudden got big ideas of yourselves, questioning thousands of turns of tradition about our how we all ''serve the queens'' above all."

Taikrin can speak all she wants, Lia's not responding. She doesn't even appear to be listening, though that half-smile hovers about her lips. Instead, once the brownrider is finished, the greenrider reclaims the redfruit and resumes peeling it. "I've heard the weather at Ista this time of year is atrociously humid. Have you been, Maraya?" E'mar looks between the two women and shifts, "Look, Tai," he says all too familiarly, "This kind of situation has never happened before. Where y'know, two golds rise and no one knows who rose first and they both picked brownriders. K'del told Lia that she should do something instead of waiting for other people to act on their beliefs and... we can't abide by a Vijay being Weyrwoman. Acting or not. It's not right."

Dragon> Thump, thump, thump. Despite the human's posturing, it is from ''Hraedhyth'' that Szadath draws his presumed authority. In the brown, it's a dizzyingly cold array of noise and echoes when he interjects with the force of a hammer on Daehyeth and her cohorts: << ENOUGH. >> No subtlety here. (Szadath to Daehyeth)

Dragon> The chaos of sping blossoms being strewn everywhere is thrown into further disarray at Szadath's interjection and the startled green is cowed almost immediately; the bronzes, however, are another story, and they bristle, but make no noise themselves. Their riders on the other hand? In the real world, rather than the dragon mental world, there's a tightening to Lia's face, a wince suppressed, while the other riders make other signs of discomfort. (Daehyeth to Szadath)

"Weyrleader. I am your ''Weyrleader''. You can take advice from someone who's dragon ''couldn't'' catch a gold all you like, but this ain't a crafthall. You don't get to ''choose'' who you follow. The golds choose. The golds chose me and Szadath so you can get the ''fuck'' out of the way while I do my job, or you can get the ''fuck'' out of my Weyr. Are we clear?" Though Taikrin remains eerily still, all of the Glacier riders have gotten out of their seats and K'tan is rubbing his knuckles thoughtfully.

"You're a brownrider who's a ''girl''," in this, E'mar isn't so political. It's said with all the frustrated force of a man whose bronze has never won a gold. "Fucking hell, Taikrin. Weyrleaders ''arent'' woman. That's Tradition too." Lia exhales audibly and puts her fruit and knife down again. There's only six of them and while E'mar and the bluerider are standing, the other four remain seated.

"Yeah, well, when you catch a gold you can make it into Weyr law. 'Til then, I ain't debating this with you. The ''Weyrleader'' don't debate with ''wingriders''. Up and out or up and ''out'', or I swear on Szadath's shell I will have you cleaning latrines for so long you'll come begging me to kick your asses instead." Taikrin moves, finally, though only to curl her fists menacingly around the back of an empty chair. Nobody else has moved much, except that that cluster of Glacier riders has drawn closer together in solidarity.

"You," Lia begins, then stops. But then immediately starts up again, "Talk a lot for someone who's not debating. How are you going to enforce anything when you're only known for how much you can drink, how fast your fists fly, and who you've fucked. The ''Vijay'' made you Weyrleader for reasons that probably had to do with finishing what her father started and destroy the Weyr. Why else would she pick someone so unfit for the position as you. I don't follow you." But she does stand after that. "If Z'ian sees fit to punish me, I'll take it. But you? We don't follow you. We grinned and beared it enough following that exile." E'mar, L'fan, and the other males can stick around, Lia's going along with Maraya.

Dragon> When Szadath returns, ebbing back in with the tide, he's not alone. Or rather, he ''is'' alone, but bolstered along by what feels like a weak mesh net flung across the dragons who have submitted to follow him-- mostly Glacier, but also parts of quite a few other wings. << You are done, >> he booms, thrumming with ice-hot anger. << Grounded to the Weyr until we say otherwise. >> And, underneath it all, pounds his presumption upon Hraedhyth's authority in sharp rhythm. (Szadath to Daehyeth)

Weyrleaders do not punch people. Even back-talking greenriders. But oh, Taikrin is going to have splinters in her hands for how hard she's clenching the well-worn wood of that chair. "Get out of my sight before I ship you off to Telgar. NOW." That last bit is roared, easily loud enough to garner the attention of any who might have been oblivious to the brewing confrontation-- and despite a few shared dubious looks amongst themselves, her wing backs her play.

Dragon> The bronzes don't take to this well, but find themselves unable to disobey this command via Hraedhyth. The other dragons have less fight in them, and Daehyeth? A little luminescent light flickers midst her blossoms, an other worldly little glow, that struggles to stay alive before flickering out. For now. (Daehyeth to Szadath)

Lia's half way to the door already. E'mar? L'fan? The remaining male riders? Punching first would not be right, right? Whoever they're getting their cues from, cause clearly, they're not bright enough to just go at it alone, finally gets through to them to turn heel and exit. But tomorrow's another day; and possibly another fight.

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Logs:The Problem with Boreal

2013-02-26T08:24:15Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Z'ian
| where = Records Room, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin exerts her Weyrleaderly powers to feel out the wingleader that H'kon dare appoint without consulting her. Z'ian responds appropriately.
| when = day 3, month 2, turn 31 of Interval 10.
| gamedate = 2013.02.25
| quote = There isn't a person in this Weyr more invested in turning Boreal around than me.
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = H'kon, K'del
| ooc = Occurs just before and during (Leova's log), and segues into [[Logs:No_Fighting_In_This_Weyr_Young_Lady!]]
| icons = z'ian arm.png, taikrin_confused.jpg
| log =
Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls, and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded. A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets, scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets.

To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture. Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs.

----

There hasn't yet been a scheduled meeting of the Wingleaders since Taikrin took over-- one is scheduled for early next sevenday. Still, it was only a matter of time before a runner -- an actual weyrbrat, not a firelizard- or dragon-delivered message, but an actual weyrbrat with an actual slip of paper -- came to find Z'ian to inform him that he had a meeting with the Weyrleader in the Records Room just after lunch. Taikrin is here, holding court over an entire table all her own that's been covered over with flight formations, coverage maps, and what looks to be a list of the sweeps for the last sevenday.

That note probably made his lunch very appetizing... or maybe not. Because Z'ian shows up just a few minutes earlier than Taikrin might be expecting him to. He arrives in her little section of the records room quietly, eyes grazing over the table covered with all different things. He raps his knuckles against one of the shelves to announce his being there before he begins to pull his gloves off, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket. He's not an antagonistic presence like some of the Wingleaders might be, he's more of the carefully neutral variety.

"Z'ian," Taikrin greets as she looks up, unsurprised by his presence whether a few minutes early or not. "Come on over, pull up a chair." She doesn't rise, nor does she make any effort to conceal what it is she's working on. "Hope I ai-- am not interrupting anything too important?" Her own smile is carefully neutral, cautiously professional.

He moves away from the shelving, crossing the room with another casual glance for her work. But it doesn't prompt any verbal response from him. There's Taikrin, a chair and then another chair and he chooses the other chair. Not far away, but enough to leave space. Z'ian catches the slip in speech and shakes his head. "You don't have to do that. Correct, you know, whatever." The ain't for the am. It's not said unkindly or brusquely, but carefully still. "But no, nothing that's really important." He watches her expectantly, waiting for her to move the conversation forward.

Something in Taikrin's expression tightens at Z'ian's reminder, but she only offers a tight smile before barreling on forward. "Good. So-- it's been a wild couple of sevendays for the both of us, looks like. I wanted to have a chance to talk to you, one-on-one, private-like. Get your thoughts on what happened with you and S'varis. Hard thing for a Weyr, losing three Wingleaders in the span of a couple months."

Z'ian doesn't comment so much on the wildness of life that he and Taikrin apparently share right now. His eyebrows lift and expression remains expectant, curious for her purpose all the way through her deliver of what the conversation is to be about. "Me and S'varis." He exhales slowly through his mouth and rolls his shoulders. "Was there something you specifically wanted more details on? He went to Telgar to try and sway Teris to return. Spoke to her Weyrleaders. I found that out when I went looking into rumors that it was K'del. Took a friend and went to have a chat. He didn't take kindly to chatting, but we found out what we needed to know. That he got backing from N'mos." He purses his lips briefly, "The rest is known. Boreal is hurting from the shake up. Their pride is cut and the Weyr is watching them." The last is carefully put.

Did Taikrin know about all this before? Maybe, maybe not. She manages to keep her expression mostly impassive, except for a short inhale when Z'ian reveals how far up the Telgar chain the conspiracy went. But then she's clearing her throat and nodding, all consummate control once more. "Taking action was the right thing to do-- we can't brook outside interference. Can't say I'm overly pleased you all went around me to do it, but... I ain't going to argue it was the right thing." Her fingers fold together atop the maps, then, and she fixes Z'ian with a look. "It ''does'' put me in a bit of a spot, though, with you and Boreal. Puts Boreal in a difficult position, too, as a wing. Bad enough the situation with Iceberg, but..."

"You weren't named Acting Weyrleader at that point." Z'ian points out, smoothly and without much emotion. "H'kon and I are wingmates. It seemed the logical choice given the variety of options I had available to me at the time. Something I wasn't sure I had a lot of." Time that is. If being fixed with looks is something that sets the bronzerider on edge, it's difficult to tell. He ''appears'' to be relatively relaxed. "Can't see as how, if I can be honest." He stretches his legs out under the table and takes another breath. Maybe it's a steadying one. "There isn't a person in this Weyr more invested in turning Boreal around than me," This time he fixes her with a look, something more alive. Assessing. "And yourself, perhaps. If the well being of the wings is truly important to you."

"No? You sure? Not another Boreal rider, or a rider that's been in the Weyr at all for more than a turn?" Taikrin's not making accusations, and there's no heat in the way she musingly lays out the facts. "As said by our Weyrwoman, H'kon and I had equal power of the wings. Well, now it's just me as much as I'd like to have his help. ''I'' got the best interests of the Weyr and Wings and Weyrwomen at heart, more'n most around here. I'll be straight with you-- I've had nothing but trouble with a lot of the riders of the bronzes Szadath beat, and I'm all out of time to be buying more. You say you want to turn Boreal around, well-- are you going to work with me to do it, or are we going to have more trouble?"

"Taikrin, I've been riding for High Reaches since I impressed here ''sixteen'' turns ago." If they're coolly laying out facts. "I broke Boreal when I went digging around. There are riders in that Wing, if given the chance would go to Telgar or another weyr in a heartbeat. I started down this path when I confronted S'varis and I've every intention of seeing it through. I don't want those riders known as ''traitors''. I'll turn Boreal around." One eyebrow arches, "I don't see how it is we're here to talk about H'kon." Z'ian leans back in his chair and unbuttons his jacket, digging in it for a piece of folded paper. "Honestly, I'm getting tired of the fight. For what good it's done a single one of us. Which isn't much." He bites down on his lip, possibly the only real sign of a troubled expression he's let show so far. And the real answer to her question comes when he pushes that smoothed out sheet to her. Summarizing what's on it out loud, "I filled the Wingsecond spots. Two riders from inside, been in for at least a decade both. I'm working with Avalanche and Taiga to see what we can do about moving around the riders that are trouble."

Taikrin remains more or less impassive, save for little tells: a twitch at the corner of her eyes, small tightening of her lips, slight increase in breath rate. When he concedes the list, though, she breaks gaze to glance down at the paper. "I don't want to see us fight each other," she clarifies after a moment. "I ain't interested in it. Done is done. My interest is in moving forward and making this work-- with people who will work ''with'' me." When she glances up again at Z'ian, her gaze is expectant. But then she's also adding, "... Snowdrift. Rather than Taiga. Mielline runs a tight operation, and I reckon it's an easier transition if they're staying in the same flight."

There's that tension that hangs in the air, until she breaks it herself to look down at the information provided. "I'd rather they be forced into a longer transition in Taiga. It's harder to mutiny when you're still adjusting to life again, it's more about everyone else and less them exactly." Z'ian is looking down at the paper, his eyebrows drawing together thoughtfully rather than disagreeably. He glances up at her, "K'del is in Taiga." He takes another breath and leans forward, dropping his elbows onto the table. "Snowdrift, alright." The bronzerider watches her a moment and looks like he's about to say something before he gives his head a quick, shuttling away whatever thought was there. "I'm not going to work ''against'' you. But my focus is in fixing the mess I have right in front of me."

Dragon> Their wingmate started out in drills, yesterday. Halfway through, after challenging the lines too many times for her rider's sanity, she ''left''. Since then, she's lurked above the caverns, a condensed exhale that, minute by minute, becomes a fizz of static. (Vrianth to all Glacier dragons)

"I'm aware," Taikrin says flatly, about K'del. "Part of fixing this mess is making sure we ain't keeping on with this us versus them business. Some of you supported H'kon. Well, fine. Done is done. But you got me now, and I ain't about to let the Weyr keep sliding into two halves. I been thinking about doing a few other transfers-- some Glacier for Iceberg, maybe. I ain't got it all figured out yet." A hand sweeps idly to indicate the papers she's been working on, before she purses her lips again at his paper. "If you got names of likely sorts, I'll see what I can do to help find the right places for 'em." Taikrin leans back in her chair, then, and for a moment looks ''tired'' before she manages to put the public mask back on. "I ain't asking for your undying loyalty or your firstborn, only that you work with me for the good of the Weyr. I can't fight you lot ''and'' protect us al--" Whatever else she was going to say is lost when she half-jumps out of her chair in genuine surprise. "Scorch it!"

Dragon> To Vrianth, Szadath surges, instinct making him push ice-cold tendrils against the reach of that static. Challenge rises, rises, and then-- deflates. Drums. Drums in the deep.

Z'ian shakes his head quickly. "I didn't mean it that way. I was just grappling with the idea that you wouldn't feel comfortable with the Boreal riders of that inclination around K'del. That's all. It was thinking I should have been doing inside my own head." She sweeps her hand to the papers and he offers a very brief, but honest, "My apologies." He observes the tired expression that takes her but has the good taste to not comment on it. "You wouldn't want my first born anyway. He's got a mouth." It's a flash of wry humor for her, just a flash because she's jumping out of her chair suddenly. Slow and cautious, "Are... you alright?"

Dragon> There, on the wind: a drift of static, ''sharpening.'' (Vrianth to Tsanth)

Dragon> She senses it, shivers against it, that cold... and lets him feel it, the sensual tinge of might-have-been. Of what-won't-be. And then she abandons him to the drumbeat. (Vrianth to Szadath)

Taikrin takes in a shaky breath, then slowly sets herself back down into her seat. "Yeah. Fine. Vrianth's just taking off, looks like. Szadath's chased her before, and-- well. Apparently she felt it necessary to ''tease''." There's a flush in her cheeks, and for a moment the look she gives Z'ian is painfully genuine, the exasperation of one male-rider to another. ''Greens''. "I'm sorry. Where were we?" She scrubs a hand briefly back through the bristly hair on her head, and attempts to re-focus on the papers. "Boreal. Yes. I'd rather not make that ''particular'' situation with Taiga any worse. I do appreciate the thought." This, too, is genuine-- Vrianth must have been impressive.

Dragon> To Vrianth, Tsanth is aware, always of the wind. It stirs the sands and the static, alerts him. Wakes him.

Dragon> There's something like laughter, now, a teasing frisson that's passing by, siding by, ''away'' and soon to be gone. She just has one little thing to do... first. (Vrianth to Tsanth)

Dragon> PROTECT THE EGGS. The drums thunder on, drowning out all else as Hraedhyth's fury rages like an inferno. Within bright flames she shares the face of one who dares battle so near their precious eggs. HUNT. She is bound to the sands, she must protect, but the queen knows her mate and His will find the one who ''dares''. (Hraedhyth to Szadath)

"Damn it." Z'ian twists and stares around to the exit. "Not. Now." His voice is very firm. Much more than he usually is with pretty much anyone ever and the target of his attention is very clearly ''not'' Taikrin. He taps his fingers along the top of the table and takes a breath, "Sorry. I think that Tsanth is aware and..." He is apologetic, really and does try to keep the conversation on topic. "Agreed. I don't think anyone wants that. I came from Taiga before Avalanche, I spent almost all of my turns there. It ''seemed'' like a good idea from that perspective, but." He's at least able to see the vantage point from it might have been all awesome and great.

Dragon> To Vrianth, Tsanth pushes back against his other half, a flash of the man in the records room. One little thing to do first, he could join her. Wants to join her. Such a short drop down from the ledge, to follow.

Dragon> Such a short drop, such a long plummet... there she is, skimming out of another dragon's shadow, another ''bronze's'', and towards the feeding pens, trailing a nascent, phosphorescent glow in her wake. If he looked, he could see. He could leave his rider there, abandon him to the hides, not take him to the wine and the quickened breaths that begin to warm the round cold cave. (Vrianth to Tsanth)

Likewise, Taikrin's snort is probably not meant for Z'ian. "If he's gonna go, let him go. We can catch back up afterwards. Szadath's got Hraedhyth holding him well down, now, and he don't--" She jolts again, passing quickly through an expression that might be rage and then into one of indignation. "Blood and crackdust, someone's fighting on the ''sands''." There's a moment of surprise when she finds herself on her feet, but it doesn't last. "There ain't enough scorching hours in the day." Funny how her accent comes to the forefront when she's angry. "Get me that list, and I'll check it later on tonight after I drop whatever idiot candidate we've brought in from the flaming ''spires''."

"Oh, for fucks sake. Tsanth, I'm ''trying'' to do what we talk-" It's likely that the outloud part of their conversation wouldn't be happening if this green flight wasn't an issue. And then it's obvious that the bronze is gone, joined to the chase with the others. His expression is pretty irritated at this point. Z'ian drags himself out of the chair, not looking happy in the slighest. And then, "''What?''. On the sands- Go. Later. The list." It's short, agreement to everything. And then likely they're both gone at the same time. Damn dragons, damn candidates.

Dragon> To Vrianth, Tsanth abandons his ledge, down and down to the feeding pens. He's likely got a late start on everything else, but that's never stopped him before. His rider, where is he? Records still, what a shame. The bronze has little to no regard for him now, focus attention on Vrianth. He's a blast of hot beach sand, pulling the heat off of her onto himself. Hot enough he could almost begin to melt those grains with it.

Dragon> She bites into that vulnerable neck, puncturing it, and ichor spurts hot and pulsing between her jaws. Can he taste it? She can. (So she's not abandoned him ''entirely'', perhaps.) (Vrianth to Szadath)

Dragon> This time, Vrianth's sending rebounds off a wall of ice-cold fire that thumps in staccato battle rhythm. Eggs. Eggs eggs eggs eggs! Hraedhyth's mind entraps the essence that is Szadath, directing and channeling him ''away''. (Szadath to Vrianth)

Dragon> There's an echo of a woman's smoky voice. 'Hurry. Or you'll be late.' It's almost laughing, almost sing-song, threatening to pull that heat right back in a flying tug-of-war. Or, no: she's, Vrianth's, trapped prey. A wherry. Its plumes fly. So do others, closer and closer, from the Starstones and the floor of the bowl and beyond, and they might even beat him, too. They might take it all, before he even has a chance to bite. (Vrianth to Tsanth)

Dragon> To Vrianth, Tsanth isn't worried, he's all bravado. Are there a few here larger than himself? It doesn't stop him from flinging his smaller bronze form into the fray, pushing sturdier dragons out of the way. Can she see him still, notice him in the crowd? He's there for her, pulling that incandescent heat away once more to himself. Allowing it to turn his sands to a scorching, glittering expanse. For her. For Vrianth. He bloods on a herdbeast, tearing it at the neck, coloring his muzzle red.

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Logs:No Fighting In This Weyr Young Lady!

2013-02-26T08:23:07Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Alida, Taikin
| where = Western Bowl, HRW
| what = Immediately after Alida has been involved in an altercation in the hatching galleries, Taikrin intercepts her to put the proper fear back into her heart.
| when = Day 3, Month 2, Turn 31 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2013.02.25
| quote = I unintentionally disrupted the queens, Sir.
| weather = A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today.
| categories = Clutch 34
| mentions = Brieli, Azaylia, Wakazian
| ooc = Follows immediately after [[Logs:The_Problem_with_Boreal]]
| icons = taikrin_violent.jpg, alida.jpg
| log =
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.

Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.

----

Alida doesn't get far when she leaves the galleries. Word travels fast when there's an angry queen on the sands, and an angry brown dragon circling in the air. There are a pair of guards on their way to meet her, calm and collected, with strict orders about how ''The Weyrleader would like a word''.

More like 'the Weyrleader would like his pound of flesh.' And the stolid look of quiet resignation upon Alida's features speaks volumes of such, her gaze as dead as it can get. Whether those weyr guards are still here or not, the candidate IS.

Taikrin doesn't run, but she does walk ''very'' fast, especially when under the shadow of those circling brown wings. The guards wait with Alida-- despite the fact that they've both got the knot of Glacier riders, they seem to be more or less in control of themselves and are content to wait while Alida remains likewise. Taikrin must have come from deep within the bowels of the Weyr, or else must be quite irritated, because her cheeks are flushed and her breathing is a bit heavy as she marches up to demand in a thickly Cromian accent, "Someone want to tell me what the ''flaming bloody shells'' is going on here?"

Even before the weyr guards can try to speak, Alida is standing ramrod straight as Taikrin pound the stone of the Bowl beneath her feet, and answering the acting Weyrleader in a crisp, professional soldier's even tone. "I unintentionally disrupted the queens, Sir." Nothing could look more stony-faced right now than the Pars guard...except the ice and stone surrounding them all.

"So I heard," Taikrin shoots back darkly. "That's the thing about dragons, ain't it? Word gets around ''real'' fast." There's a look for the guards, and maybe some of that silent communication, because the two riders retreat a moment later with a quiet, "Weyrleader." One of them is smirking, though he's trying to hide it. "Reckon you want to explain to me how, exactly, it came to be that you thought the galleries was a good place for fighting, ''candidate''?"

Alida says not a word, looks at the air between herself and Taikrin like a good little guard, her form still as straight and stiff as an iron bar...her face and eyes expressionless. When the Weyrleader finally inquires, the young woman with the quiet attitude rings off clearly, crisply, without hesitation, "Candidate Wakizian approached me, Sir. I was taking someone's advice and trying to be a little more social, Sir, so I reluctantly approached him when he invited me." Hardly a single break in her words stops them from falling from the Pars woman's lips. "I finally had enough of being social, and I tried stepping away, Sir, but Wakizian continued to engage me. I wanted to teach him a small lesson without harming him, Sir, and so I feinted a grab and punch at him to get him to leave me alone."

There's recognition, a like-matching-like, in the martial way Taikrin is standing-- a captain hearing the report of her underling, perhaps, or the guard overseeing her prisoner? "Are you trying to accuse this-- Wakazian, is it?-- of being too forward? And that you acted in self-defense? Because this is a ''real'' serious accusation to make, candidate. Best be sure you mean it, because I don't suffer that kind of misbehavior from the boys in ''my'' Weyr." Hers. Maybe she can be forgiven the ghost of a smirk that curls her lips when she says it.

For a nanosecond, there's a sudden hint of a sneer of disgust and anger lighting Alida's features, her livid green gaze, at Taikrin's words, but she just as quickly banishes that emotional reaction, and shakes her plaited head. "Negative, Sir. Candidate Wakizian was being a pest; a...an irritant. I prefer being left to my own devices most times, Sir. When he refused to take my hints to let me alone, I sought to drive him away." It's a wonder that Taikrin shouldn't have heard of the a-social bitch, by now...but the brownrider *has* been rather busy.

"So it weren't self-defence, then. You got bored of him being around, and you thought maybe the best way to handle it was to punch him." It's not a question. "In ''my'' galleries. I don't know what the bloody shells you were thinking, but this is ''not'' how my candidates are going to behave if they want to get anywhere near ''my'' eggs. Ain't your weyrlingmasters told you about Amareth and how fragile eggs are?" Behind the sternness in her lecture, Taikrin's angrily-set lips are twitching. Is that good? Bad? Is she about to have a seizure? "Where are you from, candidate? What were you, before?"

Waiting until Taikrin is done ranting, Alida finally answers back in deadpan alto, "I never was going to actually punch him, Sir. It was a pure feint." Beat. "No Sir, I wasn't told." Funny how word of dragons potentially being harmed brings a small glint of something to the palest-blonde's eyes for a long moment. "Pars Hold, Sir. Hold guard." No squirming from the testy femme.

"I don't care what you lot do on your own time, so long as nobody's so bloodied they can't stand for the eggs. But I ''won't'' abide you stirring up the queens and risking the eggs." When Alida names her rank, the twitches in Taikrin's mouth even back down into a tight-lipped frown. "Why are you here, Pars Hold guard? I ain't getting the feeling you got a lot of respect for the dragons or the other candidates, and I ain't got time or inclination to deal with that."

"I came here on a swift, small train, Sir... guard for a small package the Holder sent to someone. After I delivered it, I was ordered ta stay until the weather cleared up more, given the blizzards 'n such..." Alida raps off clearly, unwilling to look directly at Taikrin right now. At the brownrider's words of no respect, the woman finally DOES so, however, her pride and sense of fairness stung as greens meet the Weyrleader's gaze firmly. "I have deep respect for the dragons, Sir! I thought..." Swallow. "Thought that I was quiet, not disturbin' them."

"So, what, you're just playing at being a candidate until the weather clears? Because I got to say, ''that'' ain't the best ever reason I ever heard." Taikrin's anger is mitigated, somewhat, by Alida's admission. Her spine, however, remains rigidly straight. "Quiet and fighting ain't usually weyrmates. So, candidate. Are you serious about this? 'Cause I ain't convinced. Pissing off the weyrwomen and their dragons ain't usually the way to go about getting one of their hatchlings."

"I'm not the average guard in some ways, Sir..." Alida raps off, her gaze finally withdrawing from Taikrin's dark one, now hovering in the ether between them, once again. The rest is - perhaps surprising - easily answered. "I am serious, Sir," the young woman barks out like a boot to her DI, quickly snapping her trap shut about the following words that threaten to spill from mind to lips. Just shut the fuck UP.

Something Alida says piques Taikrin's interest: she's looking at her now, ''really'' looking, with a measuring gaze. "Not the average guard? You going to tell me what that means?" Is this a test? There's a note in Taikrin's voice that implies such.

Ohhh Nonononono. Alida knows that look, the tone, the question WAY too well to miss such, and once again the blonde is sweating internally while struggling to find a decent answer. What finally, and still truthfully, makes it out of her mouth is, "Sir, I feel that, no matter what answer I give, it will not please the Weyrleader." No shit.

"It's a good thing the Weyrleader isn't looking for you to please her." Taikrin can't ''quite'' say that with a straight face, though it resumes solemn overtones a moment later. "You already made the Weyrleader's day flaming hard and I reckon Hraedhyth ain't going to have you back on the sands any time soon, so-- you may as well out with it."

Ulp. Welllll...runner shit. That sentiment, mental though it is, skates across Alida's eyes for a moment before she masters herself, and finally clips off a gruff, "I'm a basically quiet person until I get angry, Sir. Most of the guards I've dealt with are...aren't a-social." Like the blonde, apparently. "I'm not buyable, either, Sir. I stick with good folk." Apparently, enough Guards she's interacted with can be a teensie bit...unethical.

"Well shells girl, you got a ''temper''? No!" Between the sharp sarcasm and her posture, Taikrin looks far taller than she really is. "I get it." Something's softened in her voice, though, and she doesn't look nearly as angry anymore-- at least not compared to the brown dragon who's settled on one of the nearby queen's ledges and begun to lash his tail. "Look. Here's how it's going to be. You're going to remember that I run my Weyr tight, and that right now you're at the bottom. Which means I don't want to hear another peep about you-- I reckon you might be the one B-- Weyrwoman Brieli was going on about, too. You're gonna go and apologize to Azaylia, and Brieli, and then you're going to do whatever they assign you to make up for it." She pauses then, nearly long enough for one to believe she might be done, then adds, "And if you're feeling the need to be punching, I reckon we should probably set up self-defense classes for you lot, anyways. Used to be a thing we did, back in the day. No more beating on people unless ''they'' beat on you first. Or it's all in fun. Are we clear?"

What? A superior is appearing to be a little bit understanding? This is mostly weird behavior according to the book of Alida, and as such, the femme's left cheek twitches once, her greens once again boring into Taikrin's browns for a long moment, as if to suss out the reason behind such a look. And then the brownrider's talking again, invalidating any other actions besides standing there like a glacier and taking whatever comes. "Yes Sir!" is barked out crisply when the Weyrleader is finished, the blonde fairly thrumming even as she stands near-stock still.

"Good." Taikrin manages to be mostly impassive when she meets Alida's stare, though there's an upward twitch of one thick eyebrow at the contact. "Reckon you ought to wait for Azaylia to leave the sands. I wouldn't head in there without orders if I were you. Now." All at once her expression hardens, and her voice drops half an octave. "Ain't you got somewhere to be, ''candidate''?"

What might be noticeable to someone used to such displays as Alida makes right now - to someone 'in the know' - is the fleeting look of learned mistrust that cycles like a chambered bullet within the guard's green eyes for a few moments...and quickly dissipates as she once again slams her gaze back into the air between them. "Yes, Sir!" is once again clipped off in concise alto, the candidate then snapping a very nice little salute before she pivots about and strides off towards the living caverns. Hopefully Brieli the vicious is around somewhere she can get to, in order that Alida can get this all over with sooner rather than later.

Taikrin might notice Alida's look, or she might not-- she's stone-faced until the candidate turns around, at which point a smugly crooked little grin blossoms across her mouth.

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Logs:No Fighting In This Weyr Young Lady!

2013-02-26T08:20:52Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Alida, Taikin | where = Western Bowl, HRW | what = Immediately after Alida has been involved in an altercation in the hatching galleries, Taikrin intercepts her..."

{{ Log
| who = Alida, Taikin
| where = Western Bowl, HRW
| what = Immediately after Alida has been involved in an altercation in the hatching galleries, Taikrin intercepts her to put the proper fear back into her heart.
| when = Day 3, Month 2, Turn 31 of Interval 10
| gamedate = YYYY.MM.DD
| quote = I unintentionally disrupted the queens, Sir.
| weather = A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today.
| categories = Clutch 34
| mentions = Brieli, Azaylia, Wakazian
| ooc = Follows immediately after [[Logs:The_Problem_with_Boreal]]
| icons = taikrin_violent.jpg, alida.jpg
| log =
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.

Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.

----

Alida doesn't get far when she leaves the galleries. Word travels fast when there's an angry queen on the sands, and an angry brown dragon circling in the air. There are a pair of guards on their way to meet her, calm and collected, with strict orders about how ''The Weyrleader would like a word''.

More like 'the Weyrleader would like his pound of flesh.' And the stolid look of quiet resignation upon Alida's features speaks volumes of such, her gaze as dead as it can get. Whether those weyr guards are still here or not, the candidate IS.

Taikrin doesn't run, but she does walk ''very'' fast, especially when under the shadow of those circling brown wings. The guards wait with Alida-- despite the fact that they've both got the knot of Glacier riders, they seem to be more or less in control of themselves and are content to wait while Alida remains likewise. Taikrin must have come from deep within the bowels of the Weyr, or else must be quite irritated, because her cheeks are flushed and her breathing is a bit heavy as she marches up to demand in a thickly Cromian accent, "Someone want to tell me what the ''flaming bloody shells'' is going on here?"

Even before the weyr guards can try to speak, Alida is standing ramrod straight as Taikrin pound the stone of the Bowl beneath her feet, and answering the acting Weyrleader in a crisp, professional soldier's even tone. "I unintentionally disrupted the queens, Sir." Nothing could look more stony-faced right now than the Pars guard...except the ice and stone surrounding them all.

"So I heard," Taikrin shoots back darkly. "That's the thing about dragons, ain't it? Word gets around ''real'' fast." There's a look for the guards, and maybe some of that silent communication, because the two riders retreat a moment later with a quiet, "Weyrleader." One of them is smirking, though he's trying to hide it. "Reckon you want to explain to me how, exactly, it came to be that you thought the galleries was a good place for fighting, ''candidate''?"

Alida says not a word, looks at the air between herself and Taikrin like a good little guard, her form still as straight and stiff as an iron bar...her face and eyes expressionless. When the Weyrleader finally inquires, the young woman with the quiet attitude rings off clearly, crisply, without hesitation, "Candidate Wakizian approached me, Sir. I was taking someone's advice and trying to be a little more social, Sir, so I reluctantly approached him when he invited me." Hardly a single break in her words stops them from falling from the Pars woman's lips. "I finally had enough of being social, and I tried stepping away, Sir, but Wakizian continued to engage me. I wanted to teach him a small lesson without harming him, Sir, and so I feinted a grab and punch at him to get him to leave me alone."

There's recognition, a like-matching-like, in the martial way Taikrin is standing-- a captain hearing the report of her underling, perhaps, or the guard overseeing her prisoner? "Are you trying to accuse this-- Wakazian, is it?-- of being too forward? And that you acted in self-defense? Because this is a ''real'' serious accusation to make, candidate. Best be sure you mean it, because I don't suffer that kind of misbehavior from the boys in ''my'' Weyr." Hers. Maybe she can be forgiven the ghost of a smirk that curls her lips when she says it.

For a nanosecond, there's a sudden hint of a sneer of disgust and anger lighting Alida's features, her livid green gaze, at Taikrin's words, but she just as quickly banishes that emotional reaction, and shakes her plaited head. "Negative, Sir. Candidate Wakizian was being a pest; a...an irritant. I prefer being left to my own devices most times, Sir. When he refused to take my hints to let me alone, I sought to drive him away." It's a wonder that Taikrin shouldn't have heard of the a-social bitch, by now...but the brownrider *has* been rather busy.

"So it weren't self-defence, then. You got bored of him being around, and you thought maybe the best way to handle it was to punch him." It's not a question. "In ''my'' galleries. I don't know what the bloody shells you were thinking, but this is ''not'' how my candidates are going to behave if they want to get anywhere near ''my'' eggs. Ain't your weyrlingmasters told you about Amareth and how fragile eggs are?" Behind the sternness in her lecture, Taikrin's angrily-set lips are twitching. Is that good? Bad? Is she about to have a seizure? "Where are you from, candidate? What were you, before?"

Waiting until Taikrin is done ranting, Alida finally answers back in deadpan alto, "I never was going to actually punch him, Sir. It was a pure feint." Beat. "No Sir, I wasn't told." Funny how word of dragons potentially being harmed brings a small glint of something to the palest-blonde's eyes for a long moment. "Pars Hold, Sir. Hold guard." No squirming from the testy femme.

"I don't care what you lot do on your own time, so long as nobody's so bloodied they can't stand for the eggs. But I ''won't'' abide you stirring up the queens and risking the eggs." When Alida names her rank, the twitches in Taikrin's mouth even back down into a tight-lipped frown. "Why are you here, Pars Hold guard? I ain't getting the feeling you got a lot of respect for the dragons or the other candidates, and I ain't got time or inclination to deal with that."

"I came here on a swift, small train, Sir... guard for a small package the Holder sent to someone. After I delivered it, I was ordered ta stay until the weather cleared up more, given the blizzards 'n such..." Alida raps off clearly, unwilling to look directly at Taikrin right now. At the brownrider's words of no respect, the woman finally DOES so, however, her pride and sense of fairness stung as greens meet the Weyrleader's gaze firmly. "I have deep respect for the dragons, Sir! I thought..." Swallow. "Thought that I was quiet, not disturbin' them."

"So, what, you're just playing at being a candidate until the weather clears? Because I got to say, ''that'' ain't the best ever reason I ever heard." Taikrin's anger is mitigated, somewhat, by Alida's admission. Her spine, however, remains rigidly straight. "Quiet and fighting ain't usually weyrmates. So, candidate. Are you serious about this? 'Cause I ain't convinced. Pissing off the weyrwomen and their dragons ain't usually the way to go about getting one of their hatchlings."

"I'm not the average guard in some ways, Sir..." Alida raps off, her gaze finally withdrawing from Taikrin's dark one, now hovering in the ether between them, once again. The rest is - perhaps surprising - easily answered. "I am serious, Sir," the young woman barks out like a boot to her DI, quickly snapping her trap shut about the following words that threaten to spill from mind to lips. Just shut the fuck UP.

Something Alida says piques Taikrin's interest: she's looking at her now, ''really'' looking, with a measuring gaze. "Not the average guard? You going to tell me what that means?" Is this a test? There's a note in Taikrin's voice that implies such.

Ohhh Nonononono. Alida knows that look, the tone, the question WAY too well to miss such, and once again the blonde is sweating internally while struggling to find a decent answer. What finally, and still truthfully, makes it out of her mouth is, "Sir, I feel that, no matter what answer I give, it will not please the Weyrleader." No shit.

"It's a good thing the Weyrleader isn't looking for you to please her." Taikrin can't ''quite'' say that with a straight face, though it resumes solemn overtones a moment later. "You already made the Weyrleader's day flaming hard and I reckon Hraedhyth ain't going to have you back on the sands any time soon, so-- you may as well out with it."

Ulp. Welllll...runner shit. That sentiment, mental though it is, skates across Alida's eyes for a moment before she masters herself, and finally clips off a gruff, "I'm a basically quiet person until I get angry, Sir. Most of the guards I've dealt with are...aren't a-social." Like the blonde, apparently. "I'm not buyable, either, Sir. I stick with good folk." Apparently, enough Guards she's interacted with can be a teensie bit...unethical.

"Well shells girl, you got a ''temper''? No!" Between the sharp sarcasm and her posture, Taikrin looks far taller than she really is. "I get it." Something's softened in her voice, though, and she doesn't look nearly as angry anymore-- at least not compared to the brown dragon who's settled on one of the nearby queen's ledges and begun to lash his tail. "Look. Here's how it's going to be. You're going to remember that I run my Weyr tight, and that right now you're at the bottom. Which means I don't want to hear another peep about you-- I reckon you might be the one B-- Weyrwoman Brieli was going on about, too. You're gonna go and apologize to Azaylia, and Brieli, and then you're going to do whatever they assign you to make up for it." She pauses then, nearly long enough for one to believe she might be done, then adds, "And if you're feeling the need to be punching, I reckon we should probably set up self-defense classes for you lot, anyways. Used to be a thing we did, back in the day. No more beating on people unless ''they'' beat on you first. Or it's all in fun. Are we clear?"

What? A superior is appearing to be a little bit understanding? This is mostly weird behavior according to the book of Alida, and as such, the femme's left cheek twitches once, her greens once again boring into Taikrin's browns for a long moment, as if to suss out the reason behind such a look. And then the brownrider's talking again, invalidating any other actions besides standing there like a glacier and taking whatever comes. "Yes Sir!" is barked out crisply when the Weyrleader is finished, the blonde fairly thrumming even as she stands near-stock still.

"Good." Taikrin manages to be mostly impassive when she meets Alida's stare, though there's an upward twitch of one thick eyebrow at the contact. "Reckon you ought to wait for Azaylia to leave the sands. I wouldn't head in there without orders if I were you. Now." All at once her expression hardens, and her voice drops half an octave. "Ain't you got somewhere to be, ''candidate''?"

What might be noticeable to someone used to such displays as Alida makes right now - to someone 'in the know' - is the fleeting look of learned mistrust that cycles like a chambered bullet within the guard's green eyes for a few moments...and quickly dissipates as she once again slams her gaze back into the air between them. "Yes, Sir!" is once again clipped off in concise alto, the candidate then snapping a very nice little salute before she pivots about and strides off towards the living caverns. Hopefully Brieli the vicious is around somewhere she can get to, in order that Alida can get this all over with sooner rather than later.

Taikrin might notice Alida's look, or she might not-- she's stone-faced until the candidate turns around, at which point a smugly crooked little grin blossoms across her mouth.

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Logs:The Problem with Boreal

2013-02-26T08:06:13Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin, Z'ian | where = Records Room, High Reaches Weyr | what = Taikrin exerts her Weyrleaderly powers to feel out the wingleader that H'kon dare appoint with..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Z'ian
| where = Records Room, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin exerts her Weyrleaderly powers to feel out the wingleader that H'kon dare appoint without consulting her. Z'ian responds appropriately.
| when = day 3, month 2, turn 31 of Interval 10.
| gamedate = 2013.02.25
| quote = There isn't a person in this Weyr more invested in turning Boreal around than me.
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = H'kon, K'del
| ooc = Occurs just before and during (Leova's log), and segues into (Alida's log)
| icons = z'ian.jpg, taikrin.jpg
| log =
Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls, and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded. A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets, scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets.

To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture. Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs.

----

There hasn't yet been a scheduled meeting of the Wingleaders since Taikrin took over-- one is scheduled for early next sevenday. Still, it was only a matter of time before a runner -- an actual weyrbrat, not a firelizard- or dragon-delivered message, but an actual weyrbrat with an actual slip of paper -- came to find Z'ian to inform him that he had a meeting with the Weyrleader in the Records Room just after lunch. Taikrin is here, holding court over an entire table all her own that's been covered over with flight formations, coverage maps, and what looks to be a list of the sweeps for the last sevenday.

That note probably made his lunch very appetizing... or maybe not. Because Z'ian shows up just a few minutes earlier than Taikrin might be expecting him to. He arrives in her little section of the records room quietly, eyes grazing over the table covered with all different things. He raps his knuckles against one of the shelves to announce his being there before he begins to pull his gloves off, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket. He's not an antagonistic presence like some of the Wingleaders might be, he's more of the carefully neutral variety.
"Z'ian," Taikrin greets as she looks up, unsurprised by his presence whether a few minutes early or not. "Come on over, pull up a chair." She doesn't rise, nor does she make any effort to conceal what it is she's working on. "Hope I ai-- am not interrupting anything too important?" Her own smile is carefully neutral, cautiously professional.

He moves away from the shelving, crossing the room with another casual glance for her work. But it doesn't prompt any verbal response from him. There's Taikrin, a chair and then another chair and he chooses the other chair. Not far away, but enough to leave space. Z'ian catches the slip in speech and shakes his head. "You don't have to do that. Correct, you know, whatever." The ain't for the am. It's not said unkindly or brusquely, but carefully still. "But no, nothing that's really important." He watches her expectantly, waiting for her to move the conversation forward.
Something in Taikrin's expression tightens at Z'ian's reminder, but she only offers a tight smile before barreling on forward. "Good. So-- it's been a wild couple of sevendays for the both of us, looks like. I wanted to have a chance to talk to you, one-on-one, private-like. Get your thoughts on what happened with you and S'varis. Hard thing for a Weyr, losing three Wingleaders in the span of a couple months."

Z'ian doesn't comment so much on the wildness of life that he and Taikrin apparently share right now. His eyebrows lift and expression remains expectant, curious for her purpose all the way through her deliver of what the conversation is to be about. "Me and S'varis." He exhales slowly through his mouth and rolls his shoulders. "Was there something you specifically wanted more details on? He went to Telgar to try and sway Teris to return. Spoke to her Weyrleaders. I found that out when I went looking into rumors that it was K'del. Took a friend and went to have a chat. He didn't take kindly to chatting, but we found out what we needed to know. That he got backing from N'mos." He purses his lips briefly, "The rest is known. Boreal is hurting from the shake up. Their pride is cut and the Weyr is watching them." The last is carefully put.

Did Taikrin know about all this before? Maybe, maybe not. She manages to keep her expression mostly impassive, except for a short inhale when Z'ian reveals how far up the Telgar chain the conspiracy went. But then she's clearing her throat and nodding, all consummate control once more. "Taking action was the right thing to do-- we can't brook outside interference. Can't say I'm overly pleased you all went around me to do it, but... I ain't going to argue it was the right thing." Her fingers fold together atop the maps, then, and she fixes Z'ian with a look. "It ''does'' put me in a bit of a spot, though, with you and Boreal. Puts Boreal in a difficult position, too, as a wing. Bad enough the situation with Iceberg, but..."

"You weren't named Acting Weyrleader at that point." Z'ian points out, smoothly and without much emotion. "H'kon and I are wingmates. It seemed the logical choice given the variety of options I had available to me at the time. Something I wasn't sure I had a lot of." Time that is. If being fixed with looks is something that sets the bronzerider on edge, it's difficult to tell. He ''appears'' to be relatively relaxed. "Can't see as how, if I can be honest." He stretches his legs out under the table and takes another breath. Maybe it's a steadying one. "There isn't a person in this Weyr more invested in turning Boreal around than me," This time he fixes her with a look, something more alive. Assessing. "And yourself, perhaps. If the well being of the wings is truly important to you."

"No? You sure? Not another Boreal rider, or a rider that's been in the Weyr at all for more than a turn?" Taikrin's not making accusations, and there's no heat in the way she musingly lays out the facts. "As said by our Weyrwoman, H'kon and I had equal power of the wings. Well, now it's just me as much as I'd like to have his help. ''I'' got the best interests of the Weyr and Wings and Weyrwomen at heart, more'n most around here. I'll be straight with you-- I've had nothing but trouble with a lot of the riders of the bronzes Szadath beat, and I'm all out of time to be buying more. You say you want to turn Boreal around, well-- are you going to work with me to do it, or are we going to have more trouble?"

"Taikrin, I've been riding for High Reaches since I impressed here ''sixteen'' turns ago." If they're coolly laying out facts. "I broke Boreal when I went digging around. There are riders in that Wing, if given the chance would go to Telgar or another weyr in a heartbeat. I started down this path when I confronted S'varis and I've every intention of seeing it through. I don't want those riders known as ''traitors''. I'll turn Boreal around." One eyebrow arches, "I don't see how it is we're here to talk about H'kon." Z'ian leans back in his chair and unbuttons his jacket, digging in it for a piece of folded paper. "Honestly, I'm getting tired of the fight. For what good it's done a single one of us. Which isn't much." He bites down on his lip, possibly the only real sign of a troubled expression he's let show so far. And the real answer to her question comes when he pushes that smoothed out sheet to her. Summarizing what's on it out loud, "I filled the Wingsecond spots. Two riders from inside, been in for at least a decade both. I'm working with Avalanche and Taiga to see what we can do about moving around the riders that are trouble."

Taikrin remains more or less impassive, save for little tells: a twitch at the corner of her eyes, small tightening of her lips, slight increase in breath rate. When he concedes the list, though, she breaks gaze to glance down at the paper. "I don't want to see us fight each other," she clarifies after a moment. "I ain't interested in it. Done is done. My interest is in moving forward and making this work-- with people who will work ''with'' me." When she glances up again at Z'ian, her gaze is expectant. But then she's also adding, "... Snowdrift. Rather than Taiga. Mielline runs a tight operation, and I reckon it's an easier transition if they're staying in the same flight."

There's that tension that hangs in the air, until she breaks it herself to look down at the information provided. "I'd rather they be forced into a longer transition in Taiga. It's harder to mutiny when you're still adjusting to life again, it's more about everyone else and less them exactly." Z'ian is looking down at the paper, his eyebrows drawing together thoughtfully rather than disagreeably. He glances up at her, "K'del is in Taiga." He takes another breath and leans forward, dropping his elbows onto the table. "Snowdrift, alright." The bronzerider watches her a moment and looks like he's about to say something before he gives his head a quick, shuttling away whatever thought was there. "I'm not going to work ''against'' you. But my focus is in fixing the mess I have right in front of me."

Dragon> Their wingmate started out in drills, yesterday. Halfway through, after challenging the lines too many times for her rider's sanity, she ''left''. Since then, she's lurked above the caverns, a condensed exhale that, minute by minute, becomes a fizz of static. (Vrianth to all Glacier dragons)

"I'm aware," Taikrin says flatly, about K'del. "Part of fixing this mess is making sure we ain't keeping on with this us versus them business. Some of you supported H'kon. Well, fine. Done is done. But you got me now, and I ain't about to let the Weyr keep sliding into two halves. I been thinking about doing a few other transfers-- some Glacier for Iceberg, maybe. I ain't got it all figured out yet." A hand sweeps idly to indicate the papers she's been working on, before she purses her lips again at his paper. "If you got names of likely sorts, I'll see what I can do to help find the right places for 'em." Taikrin leans back in her chair, then, and for a moment looks ''tired'' before she manages to put the public mask back on. "I ain't asking for your undying loyalty or your firstborn, only that you work with me for the good of the Weyr. I can't fight you lot ''and'' protect us al--" Whatever else she was going to say is lost when she half-jumps out of her chair in genuine surprise. "Scorch it!"

Dragon> To Vrianth, Szadath surges, instinct making him push ice-cold tendrils against the reach of that static. Challenge rises, rises, and then-- deflates. Drums. Drums in the deep.

Z'ian shakes his head quickly. "I didn't mean it that way. I was just grappling with the idea that you wouldn't feel comfortable with the Boreal riders of that inclination around K'del. That's all. It was thinking I should have been doing inside my own head." She sweeps her hand to the papers and he offers a very brief, but honest, "My apologies." He observes the tired expression that takes her but has the good taste to not comment on it. "You wouldn't want my first born anyway. He's got a mouth." It's a flash of wry humor for her, just a flash because she's jumping out of her chair suddenly. Slow and cautious, "Are... you alright?"

Dragon> She senses it, shivers against it, that cold... and lets him feel it, the sensual tinge of might-have-been. Of what-won't-be. And then she abandons him to the drumbeat. (Vrianth to Szadath)

Taikrin takes in a shaky breath, then slowly sets herself back down into her seat. "Yeah. Fine. Vrianth's just taking off, looks like. Szadath's chased her before, and-- well. Apparently she felt it necessary to ''tease''." There's a flush in her cheeks, and for a moment the look she gives Z'ian is painfully genuine, the exasperation of one male-rider to another. ''Greens''. "I'm sorry. Where were we?" She scrubs a hand briefly back through the bristly hair on her head, and attempts to re-focus on the papers. "Boreal. Yes. I'd rather not make that ''particular'' situation with Taiga any worse. I do appreciate the thought." This, too, is genuine-- Vrianth must have been impressive.

Dragon> PROTECT THE EGGS. The drums thunder on, drowning out all else as Hraedhyth's fury rages like an inferno. Within bright flames she shares the face of one who dares battle so near their precious eggs. HUNT. She is bound to the sands, she must protect, but the queen knows her mate and His will find the one who ''dares''. (Hraedhyth to Szadath)

"Damn it." Z'ian twists and stares around to the exit. "Not. Now." His voice is very firm. Much more than he usually is with pretty much anyone ever and the target of his attention is very clearly ''not'' Taikrin. He taps his fingers along the top of the table and takes a breath, "Sorry. I think that Tsanth is aware and..." He is apologetic, really and does try to keep the conversation on topic. "Agreed. I don't think anyone wants that. I came from Taiga before Avalanche, I spent almost all of my turns there. It ''seemed'' like a good idea from that perspective, but." He's at least able to see the vantage point from it might have been all awesome and great.

Likewise, Taikrin's snort is probably not meant for Z'ian. "If he's gonna go, let him go. We can catch back up afterwards. Szadath's got Hraedhyth holding him well down, now, and he don't--" She jolts again, passing quickly through an expression that might be rage and then into one of indignation. "Blood and crackdust, someone's fighting on the ''sands''." There's a moment of surprise when she finds herself on her feet, but it doesn't last. "There ain't enough scorching hours in the day." Funny how her accent comes to the forefront when she's angry. "Get me that list, and I'll check it later on tonight after I drop whatever idiot candidate we've brought in from the flaming ''spires''."

"Oh, for fucks sake. Tsanth, I'm ''trying'' to do what we talk-" It's likely that the outloud part of their conversation wouldn't be happening if this green flight wasn't an issue. And then it's obvious that the bronze is gone, joined to the chase with the others. His expression is pretty irritated at this point. Z'ian drags himself out of the chair, not looking happy in the slighest. And then, "''What?''. On the sands- Go. Later. The list." It's short, agreement to everything. And then likely they're both gone at the same time. Damn dragons, damn candidates.

Dragon> She bites into that vulnerable neck, puncturing it, and ichor spurts hot and pulsing between her jaws. Can he taste it? She can. (So she's not abandoned him ''entirely'', perhaps.) (Vrianth to Szadath)

Dragon> This time, Vrianth's sending rebounds off a wall of ice-cold fire that thumps in staccato battle rhythm. Eggs. Eggs eggs eggs eggs! Hraedhyth's mind entraps the essence that is Szadath, directing and channeling him ''away''. (Szadath to Vrianth)

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Logs:Opportunistic Experiments

2013-02-24T10:58:33Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Jo, Taikrin/ST{{!}}Lanvec, Taikrin/ST{{!}}Grathon
| where = Greenfields hold: Dive Bar, Lanvec's Office
| what = Jo chats up her bosses Grathon and Lanvec before a bout at the criminal gang hold and gets an assignment for the convict riders at the Weyr.
| when = Day 22, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.22
| quote = "This is an unprecedented opportunity for us to be able to move much more freely. Can you do this for us?"
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership, Greenfields Hold, Criminal Enterprises
| mentions = Taikrin
| ooc =
| icons = jo fighter.jpg
| log = It's one of those quiet, snowy nights out here in the mountains, where there's little to do but seek whatever meager indoor entertainment might be found. Today, at the dive bar that the Greenfields gang calls home, there's certainly entertainment to be had. In the front room, Grathon works the bar for a nearly full house of surly types with the assistance of a few of the cuter teens in his employ. Presumably there's a fight on down in the ring excavated beneath the building, since there's a decent amount of comings and goings through the door marked 'private' at the back of the room.

During this sort of night, Jo is seen entering into the bar, all fastened up in her black leathers with her gloves on and in place. She has a woven bag hanging over her shoulder that’s familiar to those used to seeing the bluerider in the bar – it was her change of clothes, her ‘fight’ bag – and she’s already nodding a few passing by her, just having left the ‘private’ door in the back of the room. Instead of heading towards the back, though, she heads straight towards the counter where she pies Grathon’s familiar form, her stalking gait on display. She ignores most for the most part, grabbing a stool and settling down on it as she tries to get his attention with her dark, unwavering gaze.

If there's one thing Grathon does well, it's pay attention when it looks as though he's oblivious. Jo has barely settled into her seat before he's bringing her a mug of decent beer and greeting her with a warm, "Glad to see you." He thumbs his red-veined nose, then adds casually, "We missed you around these parts. Thinking of staying long?"

It’s rare to get a genuine smile from this convict rider, but Jo’s returning Grathon’s smile with one right now, the woman appearing at ease in so seedy a place as she takes up and briefly toasts the mug in his direction. “Doin’ good, Grathon,” she returns in her husky drawl before taking a long drink. “I’ve been around, just, briefly these days. Ya know.” After another drink, his next gets that crooked smile back along with a wry and teasing, “Aww, feelin’s mutual, darlin’,” with all the swagger of a bronzerider. “Things at the Weyr’s been keepin’ me a bit more locked these days, but I thought I’d throw some weight around in the ring tonight,” and she releases the mug to briefly pat the bag at her shoulder a few times. “If it ain’ sex, it’s gotta be blood to help get this girl a good night’s sleep.”

"So I hear!" Grathon responds, leaning back with a chortle. "Interesting times we live in, isn't it? Interesting times. Never thought I'd live to see the day, personally, but here we are. Seems to be treating you alright?" He's directing while he converses, indicating with subtle gestures for a girl in her late teens to take over actively fetching drinks behind the bar, and for a boy just on the cusp of puberty to bring over a mix of nuts and dried fruit for Jo to snack on. "I hope you and your friends are doing all good works? I'm glad you found the time to swing by our way-- I'm sure you'll be welcome downstairs. Didn't sound like Zuman had a very interesting lot on the docket tonight."

“Ya can say that again,” Jo is in agreement to interesting times, her smile sharing in his enthusiasm. Leaning elbows on the counter, “And I’m ''golden'' like the Reachian queens. Been keepin’ up on business, on bein’ all that I can be in the Weyr’s prestigious ranks.” Her tone is almost deadpan, but it’s in contrast to the dark smirk seen on her face. Eyes going after the girl he gestures to briefly, his question on the others get a brisk nod, and, “They’re good. Keepin’ in line. M’ron tells me he comes around here for the ring on the nights I’m not down there, and Kait’s….well, she’s Kait.” She snorts to that as she brings that mug to her lips. “But yeah. The discord’s been rather workin’ in our favor. In ''all'' of our favors,” she clarifies meaningfully. “Taikrin’s holdin’ her own up there, even.” To the docket not being interesting tonite, there’s a shake of her head and a wry, “Guess that means I’m cleanin’ up and walkin’ away richer.” Cocky.

Grathon nods along, genially, as Jo gives her update on each of their crew. "You just missed Kait," he offers. "Saw her leave with a new gentleman friend just a few hours ago. I'll send her down, if she makes it back in tonight." There's a ruckus at the other end of the bar, one that the teenage girl seems ill-suited to handle. "Tell you what, why don't you come up here once you're done downstairs, and we'll catch up? Once some of this lot has cleaned out." He takes a step away then pauses to toss over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, "And go and see Lanvec in his office before you get all hot and bothered in the ring, alright girlie? He's been meaning to catch up with you, too."

Upon hearing that the blonde brownrider was already present and engaged, all Jo could do was roll her eyes to the ceiling and lift her mug with a brief press of her lips. “Good to know she has enough priorities to be ''here'', at least. Please do,” to that offer of sending Kaitlin down, nodding her thanks to that. To the rest, the bluerider is draining her mug and setting it down, already sliding to her feet as she hefts that bag on her shoulder to secure it firmly in place. Lopsided grin in place, “Sounds like a plan, darlin’,” is her response to catching up with him, sliding a mark piece from her pocket onto the countertop. She doesn’t look all that surprised to hear that Lanvec needs to see her, so all the woman does is toss a wink off in Grathon’s direction along with a click of her teeth in confirmation of it, and heads off towards where Lanvec’s office is towards the back of the bar.

Grathon waves her off, pleased as punch, before turning away to deal with the mess with a deep basso rumble of irritation. Down the stairs and down a long hallway to the left, away from the noise and chaos of the fighing ring. Lanvec's door is unassuming and un-marked... and cracked open a hair, indicating that his office is 'open for business' so to speak. The man himself is seated at the large desk set to face the doorway, working on some sort of map. The room is well-let and well-organized, from the bookshelves down to the little nest in the corner where his blue firelizard dozes peacefully.

Jo is all saucy saunter and easy gait as she takes the remembered path down to Lanvec’s door, the bluerider using one arm to push the door open to reveal herself to his office. As always, she takes in everything in the place before she lights last on him, not yet letting herself in as she watches Lanvec with the map on his desk. Then, after a few moments, “I forget we share the same likin' of maps,” is her quiet greeting, brows lifting and falling briefly as one hand curls about a bag strap. Once that gets his attention to her, “Grathon said ya needed to see me.” Not a question.

Soft-spoken where his compatriot is loud, calm where he is boisterous, Lanvec merely smiles faintly and gestures for Jo to take one of the two chairs set before his desk. "Jo. Come in, please, have a seat. Maps are important to knowing one's place in the world." This one, in particular, he's rolling up and putting away-- though Jo might catch a glimpse of the surrounding Crom areas. "I did want to see, you, yes. How is everything going in the Weyr?" Here, in the privacy of the office, there is very little beating around the bush; Lanvec is a businessman above all.

With Lanvec, there’s hardly any chit-chat, so the convict rider is stepping in and closing the door right behind her before dropping into one of the chairs facing him. To his remark on maps, as her gaze catches the flash of familiar markings before he shields the rest from view, “Especially when one’s place happens to be many,” is her return to that, her smile a touch knowing as Jo slowly leans back and gets comfortable. Legs crossing, “Got to punch another rider in the guts for tryin’ to do the Weyr in,” she answers blithely, though she’s also quick to add, “Plenty of Weyrs are interested in the little power play goin’ on my way. Two Weyrleaders, and two Weyrwomen. The very thought’s about to tear the Reaches apart.” Should she be worried? She doesn’t appear so. In fact, she seems to be finding it all rather amusing, if her quirked up lips is any indication. “It’s almost the perfect storm, really,” she notes, hitching up a half-shrug. “One side screams for change, and the other cries for old tradition.”

Lanvec shakes his head at the chaos of it all. "Such a waste, all of this chaos. Such a waste." He clicks his tongue, then relents with a sigh. "Ah, well. Useful to us, at any rate. Tell me, where do you think it's headed? Are they likely to have a resolution soon? And what's all this business about our dear little Taikrin being in charge of actual humans?" The sarcasm is obvious against his otherwise dry intonation. "Give me the short version of your read on it, please. I'll have you write down the long one for me later."

A brow lifting a bit, “I suppose too much chaos is bad for business,” Jo muses to Lanvec’s first, drawing a finger back and forth against her bottom lip. “But really, I can’t complain.” When he asks for the short version of it all, she takes a deep breath and taps her crossed boot in the air before answering briskly with, “Resolution? No,” and she shakes her head. “Almost seems like things are getting worse, from where I’m standing. The problem is the differing personalities, in my opinion. Can’t have too many chefs over one pot, right?” She smirks a bit on Taikrin before she adds in an amused drawl for his sarcasm, “As for Taikrin, ya heard right. She’s one of the Weyrleaders that caught one of the queens. The way some tell it, that’s part of the problem, but she ain’ gonna expose us. Told me, if she rises, ''we'' all do.” She drops her chin, looking at him significantly over fingers lacing together before her as she uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “I gave her our support, anyway,” she says. “The other one is a problem.” Shrugging now, “As for where it’s headed, I suppose that depends on them. Taikrin’s gainin’ support, but the other side is, too. Somethin’s gonna come to blows eventually between the two. Has to.”

Lanvec listens intently, his expression thoughtful. When Jo has finished her report, he says, "Interesting. I'd heard she's made another batch of eggs for us, which is of course useful given how profitable the last batch turned out to be." His smile is tight, cold, and fleeting. "Good that you threw your support in with her. Taikrin's not reliable, but she's much more easily manipulated than any other of the dragonriders we've run up against. Good... good. We can work with this. How much power do you think she has, realistically? As one of the Weyrleaders?" As he's asking, he gets to his feet to browse through the maps folded on one of the bookshelves. He returns, spreading it out to reveal with High Reaches coverage area in a fair amount of detail. "Does she have any say in what the wings are doing? Sweeps, patrols, watchrider assignments?"

His first gets that return tight smile, a slight incline of her head to where her mission had started. “We could always use a few more bad eggs,” Jo remarks to that, smirking briefly at the thought of swelling their numbers at the Weyr. “Especially given the rift the Reaches has got right now. Slippin’ more of us in there….who’s to know?” Brows lift slightly at his words on Taikrin not being reliable, but then, she’s not surprised to hear it. Still, whatever thought she has on the matter seems to be wiped by a poker faced demeanor, and to the question of how much power she has, “I think she’s got some pull like the other three, but she’s fightin’ for it every inch of the way. I still think the Weyrwoman are looked to more for the big decisions. Folks are already used to them, but believe you me, she’s been pushin’ up sleeves and makin’ changes already.” Leaning forward more now as he gets to his feet, she watches him bring forth a map with sudden interest, her gaze flicking over the detail of the Reaches, “She’s appointed herself Wingleader of the wing we’re in,” she answers his last immediately. “That gives her some power, there. Heard-tell recently that a couple more wings fell in favor to her, too. Their wingleaders. That puts her in a place to do that.”

"Good." As he reseats himself, Lanvec indicates the road leading to a little minehold-- about thirty klicks away. "I want to try a little experiment. See if you can get her to adjust sweeps so that we're leaving just a ''little'' gap here, on the road. While you're doing that, make yourself indespensible to her. Gain access to records. Especially patrols and sweep routes. Time-tables. Don't take anything, just make copies-- I shouldn't have to remind you of that, right?" He pins Jo with a gaze that's hard with turns and turns of experience. "This is an unprecedented opportunity for us to be able to move much more freely. Can you do this for us?"

When Lanvec starts to outline out what was the next business deal, already Jo’s studying that map along with his words. She’s looking up occasionally at him as she speaks, especially on the part of reminding her, and he gains a crooked smirk to that. Once she’s had her fill of the map, she leans back and gives him a firm nod of her head as her legs recross again. “I gather the little…adjustment is something Taikrin doesn’ really need to know the details on?” she asks, lifting her chin. But to the rest, there’s a slight incline of her head along with a brazen, “I know how to play it, darlin’,” as she meets his hard gaze steadily. “Make myself indispensable? Check. Gain access to records? Check, check. Sounds like somethin’ I can do in my sleep.” They had her support, despite her arrogance. “There anythin’ M’ron and Kait need to do?” she asks on her clutchmates now, the two usually flanking her in and out of the Weyr.

"That's your call. You've got the better read on her at this point-- tell her as much or as little as you feel necessary. This is just a test. Very little of value will be lost if she proves to be unreliable again. Once we have more information, we can proceed apace." He taps the spot on the map once more, then leans down to rifle through a set of papers in a drawer. "Yes. I'll give you the list of the ones we find likely for a dragon. Take the ones that you find most promising and put them in Kait and M'ron's care. Do what you can to ensure that we end up with more riders-- a bronze would be nice, in particular, to replace Taikrin with in time."

Jo is easy to nod on the first bit, saying to that, “I’ll work on her. See what she’s capable of. Maybe even over fine brandy.” Where Lanvec taps, the bluerider’s looking and seeming to be committing to memory – just in case – then on the matter of a new generation of riders, she nods genially to that along with a brisk, “I’ll see it done, darlin’. We’ll push’em through into the candidacy without none bein’ the wiser. Be nice to have one of our own on bronze. I trust we can help get Taikrin to last long enough through this storm,” she muses, watching the man intently. “I’ve taken a personal interest into the swing of things, so I’ll make sure no one comes along and swing things the wrong way. Ya know I like to do whatever it takes. No matter.” It’s all said so casually in a slow drawl, like she was discussing dinner. Straightening up now, “I haven’ let ya down,” she gives evenly. “Ain’ about to start. I know I owe ya a lot, for takin’ me in when ya did.” A debt she seems more than willing to pay.

"Good, good." Lanvec seems pleased, in as much as he's capable of displaying such an emotion. "See that you do. I have faith in your abilities, Jo. You've always been a loyal girl. One of our own. You do us proud. Now." Business-like, he folds his hands together across the table. "I don't want to keep you from your evening's entertainment. Zuman will have something extra for you when you've finished. And do let us know if there's something you need. A firelizard, perhaps? We've a friend down south, thanks to you and your friends, who might be able to oblige. They've proven to be useful messengers when the appropriate discipline is applied."

Any sort of pleasing Lanvec is taken with one of Jo’s lopsided smiles and brief dips of her head, his compliments to her abilities going straight to her ego and it shows. Hands briefly lifting out, “Yer will, my hands,” is all she says to that in a barring of teeth, her brand of staunch loyalty to those few in her life evident in tone. Legs uncross then once that part of the meeting’s over, her gaze anticipatory for the night’s activities in the ring present. “Ya really do know how to take care of a girl,” she says to Zuman having something extra waiting for her once she’s done, and when Lanvec mentions firelizards, her interest piques to that. “I could use one, truth be told,” she admits, brushing her hair back with one hand as she gets to her feet. “A real capable one for that very reason. Hook that up for me and I’ll be cheesin’ for days.” Like that flash of a smile she shows him now, briefly. “Thanks, boss. Ya know how to get at me, if ya need me.”

With that, Jo’s out of there with her bag, returning to the bar with a few words for Grathon along the way and then moving off towards the private door where she’s to be in down in the ring – fists ever at the ready for any opponent thrown her way.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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Logs:Opportunistic Experiments

2013-02-24T10:56:12Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Jo
| where = Greenfields hold: Dive Bar, Lanvec's Office
| what = Jo chats up her bosses Grathon and Lanvec before a bout at the criminal gang hold and gets an assignment for the convict riders at the Weyr.
| when = Day 22, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.22
| quote = "This is an unprecedented opportunity for us to be able to move much more freely. Can you do this for us?"
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership, Greenfields Hold, Criminal Enterprises
| mentions = Taikrin
| ooc =
| icons = jo fighter.jpg
| log = It's one of those quiet, snowy nights out here in the mountains, where there's little to do but seek whatever meager indoor entertainment might be found. Today, at the dive bar that the Greenfields gang calls home, there's certainly entertainment to be had. In the front room, Grathon works the bar for a nearly full house of surly types with the assistance of a few of the cuter teens in his employ. Presumably there's a fight on down in the ring excavated beneath the building, since there's a decent amount of comings and goings through the door marked 'private' at the back of the room.

During this sort of night, Jo is seen entering into the bar, all fastened up in her black leathers with her gloves on and in place. She has a woven bag hanging over her shoulder that’s familiar to those used to seeing the bluerider in the bar – it was her change of clothes, her ‘fight’ bag – and she’s already nodding a few passing by her, just having left the ‘private’ door in the back of the room. Instead of heading towards the back, though, she heads straight towards the counter where she pies Grathon’s familiar form, her stalking gait on display. She ignores most for the most part, grabbing a stool and settling down on it as she tries to get his attention with her dark, unwavering gaze.

If there's one thing Grathon does well, it's pay attention when it looks as though he's oblivious. Jo has barely settled into her seat before he's bringing her a mug of decent beer and greeting her with a warm, "Glad to see you." He thumbs his red-veined nose, then adds casually, "We missed you around these parts. Thinking of staying long?"

It’s rare to get a genuine smile from this convict rider, but Jo’s returning Grathon’s smile with one right now, the woman appearing at ease in so seedy a place as she takes up and briefly toasts the mug in his direction. “Doin’ good, Grathon,” she returns in her husky drawl before taking a long drink. “I’ve been around, just, briefly these days. Ya know.” After another drink, his next gets that crooked smile back along with a wry and teasing, “Aww, feelin’s mutual, darlin’,” with all the swagger of a bronzerider. “Things at the Weyr’s been keepin’ me a bit more locked these days, but I thought I’d throw some weight around in the ring tonight,” and she releases the mug to briefly pat the bag at her shoulder a few times. “If it ain’ sex, it’s gotta be blood to help get this girl a good night’s sleep.”

"So I hear!" Grathon responds, leaning back with a chortle. "Interesting times we live in, isn't it? Interesting times. Never thought I'd live to see the day, personally, but here we are. Seems to be treating you alright?" He's directing while he converses, indicating with subtle gestures for a girl in her late teens to take over actively fetching drinks behind the bar, and for a boy just on the cusp of puberty to bring over a mix of nuts and dried fruit for Jo to snack on. "I hope you and your friends are doing all good works? I'm glad you found the time to swing by our way-- I'm sure you'll be welcome downstairs. Didn't sound like Zuman had a very interesting lot on the docket tonight."

“Ya can say that again,” Jo is in agreement to interesting times, her smile sharing in his enthusiasm. Leaning elbows on the counter, “And I’m ''golden'' like the Reachian queens. Been keepin’ up on business, on bein’ all that I can be in the Weyr’s prestigious ranks.” Her tone is almost deadpan, but it’s in contrast to the dark smirk seen on her face. Eyes going after the girl he gestures to briefly, his question on the others get a brisk nod, and, “They’re good. Keepin’ in line. M’ron tells me he comes around here for the ring on the nights I’m not down there, and Kait’s….well, she’s Kait.” She snorts to that as she brings that mug to her lips. “But yeah. The discord’s been rather workin’ in our favor. In ''all'' of our favors,” she clarifies meaningfully. “Taikrin’s holdin’ her own up there, even.” To the docket not being interesting tonite, there’s a shake of her head and a wry, “Guess that means I’m cleanin’ up and walkin’ away richer.” Cocky.

Grathon nods along, genially, as Jo gives her update on each of their crew. "You just missed Kait," he offers. "Saw her leave with a new gentleman friend just a few hours ago. I'll send her down, if she makes it back in tonight." There's a ruckus at the other end of the bar, one that the teenage girl seems ill-suited to handle. "Tell you what, why don't you come up here once you're done downstairs, and we'll catch up? Once some of this lot has cleaned out." He takes a step away then pauses to toss over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, "And go and see Lanvec in his office before you get all hot and bothered in the ring, alright girlie? He's been meaning to catch up with you, too."

Upon hearing that the blonde brownrider was already present and engaged, all Jo could do was roll her eyes to the ceiling and lift her mug with a brief press of her lips. “Good to know she has enough priorities to be ''here'', at least. Please do,” to that offer of sending Kaitlin down, nodding her thanks to that. To the rest, the bluerider is draining her mug and setting it down, already sliding to her feet as she hefts that bag on her shoulder to secure it firmly in place. Lopsided grin in place, “Sounds like a plan, darlin’,” is her response to catching up with him, sliding a mark piece from her pocket onto the countertop. She doesn’t look all that surprised to hear that Lanvec needs to see her, so all the woman does is toss a wink off in Grathon’s direction along with a click of her teeth in confirmation of it, and heads off towards where Lanvec’s office is towards the back of the bar.

Grathon waves her off, pleased as punch, before turning away to deal with the mess with a deep basso rumble of irritation. Down the stairs and down a long hallway to the left, away from the noise and chaos of the fighing ring. Lanvec's door is unassuming and un-marked... and cracked open a hair, indicating that his office is 'open for business' so to speak. The man himself is seated at the large desk set to face the doorway, working on some sort of map. The room is well-let and well-organized, from the bookshelves down to the little nest in the corner where his blue firelizard dozes peacefully.

Jo is all saucy saunter and easy gait as she takes the remembered path down to Lanvec’s door, the bluerider using one arm to push the door open to reveal herself to his office. As always, she takes in everything in the place before she lights last on him, not yet letting herself in as she watches Lanvec with the map on his desk. Then, after a few moments, “I forget we share the same likin' of maps,” is her quiet greeting, brows lifting and falling briefly as one hand curls about a bag strap. Once that gets his attention to her, “Grathon said ya needed to see me.” Not a question.

Soft-spoken where his compatriot is loud, calm where he is boisterous, Lanvec merely smiles faintly and gestures for Jo to take one of the two chairs set before his desk. "Jo. Come in, please, have a seat. Maps are important to knowing one's place in the world." This one, in particular, he's rolling up and putting away-- though Jo might catch a glimpse of the surrounding Crom areas. "I did want to see, you, yes. How is everything going in the Weyr?" Here, in the privacy of the office, there is very little beating around the bush; Lanvec is a businessman above all.

With Lanvec, there’s hardly any chit-chat, so the convict rider is stepping in and closing the door right behind her before dropping into one of the chairs facing him. To his remark on maps, as her gaze catches the flash of familiar markings before he shields the rest from view, “Especially when one’s place happens to be many,” is her return to that, her smile a touch knowing as Jo slowly leans back and gets comfortable. Legs crossing, “Got to punch another rider in the guts for tryin’ to do the Weyr in,” she answers blithely, though she’s also quick to add, “Plenty of Weyrs are interested in the little power play goin’ on my way. Two Weyrleaders, and two Weyrwomen. The very thought’s about to tear the Reaches apart.” Should she be worried? She doesn’t appear so. In fact, she seems to be finding it all rather amusing, if her quirked up lips is any indication. “It’s almost the perfect storm, really,” she notes, hitching up a half-shrug. “One side screams for change, and the other cries for old tradition.”

Lanvec shakes his head at the chaos of it all. "Such a waste, all of this chaos. Such a waste." He clicks his tongue, then relents with a sigh. "Ah, well. Useful to us, at any rate. Tell me, where do you think it's headed? Are they likely to have a resolution soon? And what's all this business about our dear little Taikrin being in charge of actual humans?" The sarcasm is obvious against his otherwise dry intonation. "Give me the short version of your read on it, please. I'll have you write down the long one for me later."

A brow lifting a bit, “I suppose too much chaos is bad for business,” Jo muses to Lanvec’s first, drawing a finger back and forth against her bottom lip. “But really, I can’t complain.” When he asks for the short version of it all, she takes a deep breath and taps her crossed boot in the air before answering briskly with, “Resolution? No,” and she shakes her head. “Almost seems like things are getting worse, from where I’m standing. The problem is the differing personalities, in my opinion. Can’t have too many chefs over one pot, right?” She smirks a bit on Taikrin before she adds in an amused drawl for his sarcasm, “As for Taikrin, ya heard right. She’s one of the Weyrleaders that caught one of the queens. The way some tell it, that’s part of the problem, but she ain’ gonna expose us. Told me, if she rises, ''we'' all do.” She drops her chin, looking at him significantly over fingers lacing together before her as she uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “I gave her our support, anyway,” she says. “The other one is a problem.” Shrugging now, “As for where it’s headed, I suppose that depends on them. Taikrin’s gainin’ support, but the other side is, too. Somethin’s gonna come to blows eventually between the two. Has to.”

Lanvec listens intently, his expression thoughtful. When Jo has finished her report, he says, "Interesting. I'd heard she's made another batch of eggs for us, which is of course useful given how profitable the last batch turned out to be." His smile is tight, cold, and fleeting. "Good that you threw your support in with her. Taikrin's not reliable, but she's much more easily manipulated than any other of the dragonriders we've run up against. Good... good. We can work with this. How much power do you think she has, realistically? As one of the Weyrleaders?" As he's asking, he gets to his feet to browse through the maps folded on one of the bookshelves. He returns, spreading it out to reveal with High Reaches coverage area in a fair amount of detail. "Does she have any say in what the wings are doing? Sweeps, patrols, watchrider assignments?"

His first gets that return tight smile, a slight incline of her head to where her mission had started. “We could always use a few more bad eggs,” Jo remarks to that, smirking briefly at the thought of swelling their numbers at the Weyr. “Especially given the rift the Reaches has got right now. Slippin’ more of us in there….who’s to know?” Brows lift slightly at his words on Taikrin not being reliable, but then, she’s not surprised to hear it. Still, whatever thought she has on the matter seems to be wiped by a poker faced demeanor, and to the question of how much power she has, “I think she’s got some pull like the other three, but she’s fightin’ for it every inch of the way. I still think the Weyrwoman are looked to more for the big decisions. Folks are already used to them, but believe you me, she’s been pushin’ up sleeves and makin’ changes already.” Leaning forward more now as he gets to his feet, she watches him bring forth a map with sudden interest, her gaze flicking over the detail of the Reaches, “She’s appointed herself Wingleader of the wing we’re in,” she answers his last immediately. “That gives her some power, there. Heard-tell recently that a couple more wings fell in favor to her, too. Their wingleaders. That puts her in a place to do that.”

"Good." As he reseats himself, Lanvec indicates the road leading to a little minehold-- about thirty klicks away. "I want to try a little experiment. See if you can get her to adjust sweeps so that we're leaving just a ''little'' gap here, on the road. While you're doing that, make yourself indespensible to her. Gain access to records. Especially patrols and sweep routes. Time-tables. Don't take anything, just make copies-- I shouldn't have to remind you of that, right?" He pins Jo with a gaze that's hard with turns and turns of experience. "This is an unprecedented opportunity for us to be able to move much more freely. Can you do this for us?"

When Lanvec starts to outline out what was the next business deal, already Jo’s studying that map along with his words. She’s looking up occasionally at him as she speaks, especially on the part of reminding her, and he gains a crooked smirk to that. Once she’s had her fill of the map, she leans back and gives him a firm nod of her head as her legs recross again. “I gather the little…adjustment is something Taikrin doesn’ really need to know the details on?” she asks, lifting her chin. But to the rest, there’s a slight incline of her head along with a brazen, “I know how to play it, darlin’,” as she meets his hard gaze steadily. “Make myself indispensable? Check. Gain access to records? Check, check. Sounds like somethin’ I can do in my sleep.” They had her support, despite her arrogance. “There anythin’ M’ron and Kait need to do?” she asks on her clutchmates now, the two usually flanking her in and out of the Weyr.

"That's your call. You've got the better read on her at this point-- tell her as much or as little as you feel necessary. This is just a test. Very little of value will be lost if she proves to be unreliable again. Once we have more information, we can proceed apace." He taps the spot on the map once more, then leans down to rifle through a set of papers in a drawer. "Yes. I'll give you the list of the ones we find likely for a dragon. Take the ones that you find most promising and put them in Kait and M'ron's care. Do what you can to ensure that we end up with more riders-- a bronze would be nice, in particular, to replace Taikrin with in time."

Jo is easy to nod on the first bit, saying to that, “I’ll work on her. See what she’s capable of. Maybe even over fine brandy.” Where Lanvec taps, the bluerider’s looking and seeming to be committing to memory – just in case – then on the matter of a new generation of riders, she nods genially to that along with a brisk, “I’ll see it done, darlin’. We’ll push’em through into the candidacy without none bein’ the wiser. Be nice to have one of our own on bronze. I trust we can help get Taikrin to last long enough through this storm,” she muses, watching the man intently. “I’ve taken a personal interest into the swing of things, so I’ll make sure no one comes along and swing things the wrong way. Ya know I like to do whatever it takes. No matter.” It’s all said so casually in a slow drawl, like she was discussing dinner. Straightening up now, “I haven’ let ya down,” she gives evenly. “Ain’ about to start. I know I owe ya a lot, for takin’ me in when ya did.” A debt she seems more than willing to pay.

"Good, good." Lanvec seems pleased, in as much as he's capable of displaying such an emotion. "See that you do. I have faith in your abilities, Jo. You've always been a loyal girl. One of our own. You do us proud. Now." Business-like, he folds his hands together across the table. "I don't want to keep you from your evening's entertainment. Zuman will have something extra for you when you've finished. And do let us know if there's something you need. A firelizard, perhaps? We've a friend down south, thanks to you and your friends, who might be able to oblige. They've proven to be useful messengers when the appropriate discipline is applied."

Any sort of pleasing Lanvec is taken with one of Jo’s lopsided smiles and brief dips of her head, his compliments to her abilities going straight to her ego and it shows. Hands briefly lifting out, “Yer will, my hands,” is all she says to that in a barring of teeth, her brand of staunch loyalty to those few in her life evident in tone. Legs uncross then once that part of the meeting’s over, her gaze anticipatory for the night’s activities in the ring present. “Ya really do know how to take care of a girl,” she says to Zuman having something extra waiting for her once she’s done, and when Lanvec mentions firelizards, her interest piques to that. “I could use one, truth be told,” she admits, brushing her hair back with one hand as she gets to her feet. “A real capable one for that very reason. Hook that up for me and I’ll be cheesin’ for days.” Like that flash of a smile she shows him now, briefly. “Thanks, boss. Ya know how to get at me, if ya need me.”

With that, Jo’s out of there with her bag, returning to the bar with a few words for Grathon along the way and then moving off towards the private door where she’s to be in down in the ring – fists ever at the ready for any opponent thrown her way.

{{#ifexist: Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}} | <hr><hr><br><h2>Comments</h2>{{Logs_talk:{{BASEPAGENAME}}}} |<hr><hr>}}

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Logs:Human Business

2013-02-24T06:40:18Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Azaylia
| where = Hatching Galleries/Sands, High Reaches Weyr
| what = After talking with Brieli, Taikrin sees if she can convince Azaylia to support her as Acting. It goes ''okay''.
| when = Day 25, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.23
| quote = "Do you trust me?"
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership, Clutch 34
| mentions = Brieli, H'kon, Liv
| ooc = Takes place directly after [http://hrweyr.net/Logs:To_The_Future To The Future.]
| icons = taikrin.jpg, azaylia hraefire.jpg, taikrin szadath.jpg, azaylia thestare2.jpg
| log = Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
----
Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.

The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.
----

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Szadath has been away, working, leaving only the two queens to guard the eggs. And now, though he doesn't return physically, his mind returns to Hraedhyth like iron filings to a magnet. << Hraedhyth. Taikrin. She looks for yours. There is something important. >> The very cadence of his voice falls, all unintentionally, into rhythm with her mind.

Dragon> Iron filings to be melted by the wave of stifling heat that claims him, welcoming Szadath with far too much intensity. It is how Hraedhyth has been, guarding both clutches as well as her fellow gold. Would he have it any other way? << We are here. >> The galleries, which are so rarely private, are scarcely populated when the warrior queen is awake. Just how she likes it. (Hraedhyth to Szadath)

Taikrin and Szadath enter at roughly the same time: Szadath, to the sands, and Taikrin to the galleries. The brown hesitates, head swinging towards Iesaryth briefly, before he shakes it off and tromps in to greet Hraedhyth and the combined clutch with a low, pleased rumble. Taikrin, meanwhile, reserves her enthusiasm and instead offers only a bright smile up into the galleries from where she hesitates on the landing.

Hraedhyth's head snaps up as Szadath' enters, bone clubs at half-mast, jaws parted in anticipation to defend Hers. The other gold and her clutch also fall under this, likely unwanted, claim. Even as she recognizes her mate, the queen doesn't fully relax but she does extend a fond headbutt in greeting. Azaylia is slow to stand once she catches sight of Taikrin, knitting left on the row as she begins to ease towards the brownrider. She's visibly exhausted, slow, and it shows even more in the tentative smile she offers, "Szadath said it was important?" Soft voice isn't likely to be overheard, even by the few souls in the nosebleed seats. It's possible they've snuck in, or they're far enough to appease the more aggressive queen.

"Hey, Azaylia." Taikrin seems calm, confident, and in control-- weird, when one considers the chaos H'kon has caused in the last few days and how upset she's been about it. "Everything alright in here?" She might be avoiding the question, but she's quick to come to Azaylia's side and offer her a one-armed hug while Szadath returns the headbutt. He's cautious around the eggs, his movements slow and careful, as he lowers his nose to inspect the nearest. "You doing okay?"

"In here." Azaylia murmurs, the only affirmative she feels confident in answering. The weyrwoman is all too receptive to the hug, pressing in tight-- though it's unclear whether Taikrin is the cause, or she's just desperate for affection. Her eyes turn to the sands, smile gaining some strength as Hraedhyth turns the careful headbutt into a nuzzle. Szadath is welcome to inspect, and no doubt the queen is filling him in on all that he's missed. It's more than one would expect, but mothers have always been good at talking about their offspring. Their silent, still offspring.

It might come as a surprise to many who didn't see him the last time this happened, but Szadath is an attentive clutch-sire. He's happy to share in Hraedhyth's observations, and to speculate about the muzzy, unformed minds that will soon be emerging. He's more interested in Hraedhyth, of course, but the eggs often hold a prominent spot in his mind. "Hey, hey. Want to tell me what's up?" Taikrin's gentle as she seeks to guide Azaylia back to her seat: her focus is entirely on the younger woman, watching her as she watches the sands.

Of course Hraedhyth is a terrible threat to those who want to look at the eggs and keep warm. Possessive of both mate and clutch, it doesn't wane with with Szadath being close, though there might be a hint of something in their interaction. Not soft- no weakness during her watch, but certainly warm. "Not really." Azaylia answers in an exhale, leaning on the shorter woman and all too easily led back to her knitting. "If I don't do anything, I'm hurting the Weyr. If I try, I hurt the Weyr." Sounds an awful lot like telling Taikrin what's up. "I sh..." A swallow. "I should be transferred." To do damage elsewhere.

"Oh, Azaylia, Azaylia! Don't say that. Hey, hey, take it easy." Taikrin is a warm, if hard, side for the weyrwoman to lean against, and a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Your place is here, you know that. Things are a little crazy right now, but we'll fix it. I'll fix it. Everything's going to be okay. Let me take care of you." There are lips brushing feather-light near Azaylia's temple, but then Taikrin's leaning forward to try and catch her eye. "Hey. Look at me, yeah? Do you trust me?"

There are no tears, not that it keeps Azaylia from sounding any less miserable, "I can't stand it. I can't stand the thought that I'm hurting my home. The people I care about." Her voice is tight, speaking through a throat that wants to close up. Those lips have her tensing only to melt further into Taikrin, eyes half-lidded as she stares past the brownrider's attempts to catch her eye. Eventually, she'll look over and give the nod along with another faint swallow. "I don't want to. ...It hurts." To trust, to have it broken.

"Oh Azaylia." It's a sigh this time, and a benediction. "You have all the right intentions. There's just-- it ain't enough time." Taikrin tugs her closer yet, moving to take one of Azaylia's hand with her free one. "I know it hurts. I want to make you stop hurting. I know how, I think, if you trust me. Just a little. Just enough to do the right thing. I don't ''want'' everyone to be hurting anymore."

"Do I?" The goldrider doesn't sound so sure, not that she's making any attempt to argue with Taikrin. "That's not what people tell me." There's nothing bitter in Azaylia's tone. She's simply lost. "Not enough time for me to grow up. To stop being selfish." Old wounds from various sources resurface, doing little to worsen her mood. "I trust you." She helps to tuck herself against the brownrider's side, hand giving a weak squeeze that could be of thanks, or simply her enjoying the contact.

Dragon> To Taikrin, Szadath projects low amusement at how long Taikrin takes to get around to it. << Why do you make it so complicated? Did you not fly her? Is she not our mate? Tell her what you will do, and be done. >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Taikrin projects, << I got this. Leave the human stuff to me and just try to keep your queen from biting your face off again, huh? >>

"So let's give you time. Faranth, you're so young. I forget sometimes, you know? It's easy to forget, because ''they're'' not young like we are. Two turns old, and they're grown and mature." It's the moment of truth, and Taikrin hesitates just a breath. "Let me take care of you. Just for now, just until we get everything sorted. No longer than until one of the queens rises again-- you never know, they might do it pretty quick. Give you time to learn, and heal, and time for the Weyr to get back on its feet. We can't have the wings at odds with each other, and it hurts my heart to see you and Brieli fight. You have a good heart, Azaylia, you just need time."

The longer Taikrin speaks, the more Azaylia begins to fidget. Her muscles tense in some moments only to relax, and so on. No doubt the brownrider will be able to feel with how close they are, and it's only when she's relaxed some does the goldrider speak, "How are you going to take care of me?" There's no suspicion, but perhaps a hint of fear for all of the brownrider's insisting. Tense.

"Let me lead the Weyr. Officially. The wings are upset, and they got to have one person in charge and it ''can't'' be H'kon. He's not strong enough to stand up when he needs to." Taikrin's still got one of Azaylia's hands tight in her own. "And you can't have a Weyrleader without a Weyrwoman. I'll offer to make H'kon my second, and you should offer to be Brieli's second. You can still work together, same as ever, but it'll look to everyone like you all speak with a unified voice. And then, when we got time and room again, we can put everything together." There's a note of anxiety undermining Taikrin's attempt at cool confidence. "I know it ain't exactly what you want to hear. It ain't ideal. But it's the only thing I can think of, that seems fair?"

Dragon> To Taikrin, Pithy comments, from Szadath: << You are so bad at this. You couldn't fly a randy green with a busted wing if it weren't for me. >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Taikrin projects, << Shut the fuck ''up'', Szad, if you ain't gonna help me! >>

Azaylia gives a startled jump, sitting up straighter in order to find Taikrin's gaze. "H'kon ''is'' strong. He's one of the strongest people I know." Her voice cracks, guilt flashing all too clearly in her wide eyes. Bad start. Worse finish, from the way she's trying to snatch her hand from the brownrider's, eyes darting as she makes an attempt to compose herself. "H'kon caught Brieli. I don't care if she hates him, I don't care i-if you don't think he's strong enough." Perhaps she cares a more for the latter, focus shifting down to her hands. "It's not ''fair''." The situation, as well as what that would do to H'kon, "I'm not going to hurt him again. If you want to be Breili's Weyrleader, fine. But not if there's someone else who has the same claim." Her eyes narrow, squinting away from the older woman as she hugs herself tight.

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth has been there, but now that harsh focus is aimed at him with ''intent''. << Is it Iesaryth's eggs you guard? >> Not that she's shared which eggs belong to who, but the accusation is there. << We do not ''need'' you. >> Spurned on by her rider's upset, << You >> Both brown and rider, << Are welcome to leave. >> Drums thunder on, mingling well with the queen's growl.

"Azaylia." Taikrin releases Azaylia's hand, but she's resting hers on the weyrwoman's knee instead. "Stop. Please. I ain't saying he ain't strong. I wouldn't offer him second if I didn't think he was. But he ain't a ''leader''. Look at what he's doing. He'll make me a great second, but as it is he's just doing whatever anyone points him at. I don't want to be ''Brieli's'' Weyrleader, but look at where we are. Azaylia, look at me. Someone's got to do the hard stuff, right now. Like taking medicine, or cauterizing a wound. A little hurt, to just the right little spot, to make all the hurting stop. To make ''your'' hurting stop." And then Szadath is rearing back, startled, and Taikrin's voice rises in command. "''Azaylia''! Stop!"

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Szadath's startlement is genuine, though even as he rears back he's cautious of exactly where he puts each paw and tail and wingtip. << I guard ''you''. Our eggs. ''Our eggs''. All eggs! >> Even with the queen's rage directed at him, he draws strength from the angry thunder in her mind. It echoes through him yet, powering his reverb, powering his confusion and earnestness. << You are mine! We belong to you! >>

From the sands, Iesaryth, who's been dozing this whole time, stirs only slightly as Szadath rears back, opens lids slowly, one after the other.

Hraedhyth's gaze is even more crimson than usual, stare locked on the brown as her head wedges between him and the eggs. Her growls echo throughout the galleries, tawny dragon visibly rocking as she shifts her weight back and forth. "Just like I'll make a great junior?" Now she's bitter, and Azaylia winces after her own words. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know you're trying, Taikrin. You're better than I am, for that reason." Hraedhyth slowly ceases in her shifting, likely due to the tired stare her rider is giving the sands. "I don't want Brieli as Senior. She lies. She ''lies''. If you knew--" But, "She's better than I am, too." Her eyes close, fingers biting into her shoulders, "If you can get H'kon to agree, then you can both be better together."

Dragon> To Taikrin, Szadath panics as only Taikrin is allowed to see. << STOP STOP I WILL FIX IT STOP YOU ARE TERRIBLE. >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth is not so cruel as to block him mentally, even as she physically lays claim on ''her'' eggs. << Yours belongs to many. >> Which doesn't seem to be a problem, so much as it is an excuse to wonder the same of Szadath. There's a calm forced upon her, shifting the flames that no longer wish to burn, but to claim. They consume him, wrapping him up in her savage fire, << ''Mine.'' >> No other golds'. With less severity, << You guard ''our'' eggs. >>

"You are a great ''weyrwoman'', and one day very soon you will be a great ''senior''." Taikrin manages to remain calm through Azaylia's storm, but it's a near thing. It's Szadath who backpedals to give space, head low and gaze white-pink-red-yellow in his confusion. The noise he's making is not quite a croon and not quite a moan, but something twisted in between. "I ''don't'' know, because you haven't told me. If there's something I need to know about Brieli, you need to tell me." She hasn't stopped touching-- now her other hand is on Azaylia's shoulder, fingertips brushing gently. "It's not for forever. Just until we can calm everyone down and get strong again. And it's only in title. Just to give voice. The four of us-- we're still a council. Everyone's thoughts still count. You still count. You are ''important'', still. You're the future-- let me do the dirty work, so you don't have to. I want your hands to be clean." Taikrin's trying at a smile, a little one that's self-effacing and maybe even sweet if you squint. "I don't want you dirtied. You deserve a whole Weyr that can love you for you."

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Szadath is cautious, so cautious. Not to accept the scourging flames as his due, because those he welcomes with relief. Rather, it's to venture. << Mine does human business. It is very complicated. I am yours. I guard our eggs. >> Szadath, in the end, is a simple dragon. He shares with Hraedhyth the mesh he has built, strung along out of the influence he borrows from her that chains together Glacier, parts of Snowdrift. << I serve only you. >>

"One day isn't now." Azaylia mumbles, brows gathering in a pinch over eyes that are still closed. For one tense moment, her lips part as if she's willing to explain all... only to have her mouth snap shut. She looks ill for it, head giving a shake that has loose locks flying this way and that: nothing Taikrin needs to know. "Brieli's running the Weyr fine on her own." It comes out as a whisper, making it hard to pluck any one emotion from her words. Certainly bitter, at least. "I don't care if I'm important. I don't care if people ''like'' me. The only thing I care about is this Weyr." Her eyes open, finding Taikrin with a gaze that is steady only in this, "You can't make me hurt H'kon." Again. "Just like he couldn't make me hurt you." She stands, slipping out from under Taikrin's hand in order to move towards the steps. "I'm not good for the Weyr. But neither is someone who... feels that she's owed?" She repeats the words despite being uncertain of their meaning, and it shows. "I'm going to check on Szadath." She begins to head down the steps.

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth understands his caution, even if her lessened temper reveals that she's apologetic. << Human business. >> She gives the words a savage shake within her jaws, eventually tossing them away. Dismissed. The queen takes her time in looking over that mesh, stroking the brown's ego not unlike a weyrling. It's very good! After a moment, she shifts none too subtly back to their offspring, if the painfully vibrant egg is even his. The gold isn't telling, << This one grows brighter each day. >>

"You are good for the Weyr. You will be ''better''. Azaylia, listen to me, Szadath's fine." While she lets Azaylia go, Taikrin also rises to follow a half a pace behind. "You're the one to make a healthy Weyr great. It ain't no small thing to be loved. People don't love me, but I can do the stuff that needs doing to make it healthy. So can Brieli. But she can't ever make the Weyr ''love'' her, not like they love you. She can only do the stuff that needs doing, until it's done. So you can take over." She's very carefully and very deliberately not mentioning H'kon. "It ain't weakness. It just... is."

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Szadath is glad enough to redirect all of his attention to the egg, even as he unabashedly basks in her approval. << It is very bright. >> He exams it from all sides, cautious all the same for another sudden change. << This one will pick a male mate, I think. >> Why does he know? How? << It will be strong. All of our hatchlings will be strong. >>

Even if his rider says he's fine, Azaylia's aiming to brave the sand's heat in order to see for herself. "I don't ''want'' to take over." A note of disgust. No, nothing so harsh, she's merely exasperated. "I- thank you, Taikrin. For saying these things." Though they're not true. "I know you're just trying to help. But I already said it's fine. I don't know what else you want me to say." She sounds exhausted, having to turn her head in order to be heard over her shoulder. Once she reaches the sands, she hangs near the edge to watch the three dragons with a look of concern.

Dragon> Drums thump with pride, and yes, approval for her brown mate. << They will find Theirs and it will be good. >> Excitement breaks through her rhythmic thoughts to roll with anticipation. << They are easier to protect, now. >> What with being encased in hard shells and not off in the snow or trying to fly. Let's hope she's not so overprotective when they're actually dragons. (Hraedhyth to Szadath)

"I don't--" Despite her apparent success, the way Taikrin is running a hand through her shorn hair is a typical gesture of frustration for the brownrider. "I really do want you to be okay. You're important to me, and I want to make sure you know that. Yeah?" Szadath, meanwhile, has recovered from his shock. He's nosing at an egg, albeit cautiously, and the color in his eyes his healthier. Warmer.

Dragon> << It will be very good. Once they hatch, we will not need to protect them. >> Beat. << As much. They will be able to bite and flame and claw. >> Hatchlings can do that right out of the shell, right? Szadath adds an image of claws escaping that so-bright shell, spearing the world's tiniest herdbeast. (Szadath to Hraedhyth)

"Get H'kon to agree to be your 'second." Azaylia reminds, words firm but voice weak as she watches Szadath nose at an egg. She's not looking at the brownrider now, "I'm not okay." She admits in a whisper, "Inside, I'm not an okay person. You shouldn't have so much faith in me, Taikrin. It's going to get you hurt." It's honest concern for the brownrider which prompts her to say such things.

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth enjoys that image, growling out of pleasure for the assured strength and capability of their offspring. Bronze, brown, blue, green. All of them will be important. << And then, >> Fire's smoke rises to curl and tickle his own acrid wisps, so much like that mostly forgotten flight, << We will make more. >> It's the circle of life.

"I'll do my best. I can't make the man do a thing, though, and I know you wouldn't want me to force him." Taikrin shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she stops just to Azaylia's side-- close, but not quite touching. "You're a good person in a hard time. I have faith in you like Hraedhyth has faith in you. Like Szadath has faith in Hraedhyth. I know good when I see it. We'll get through this okay. I promise. You won't hurt me. I'm tough."

Dragon> And gold. Szadath inserts that at the end, because nobody ever tells Szadath he can't do a thing except he has to prove them wrong. << More. >> It's an enchantment, a drug, an addiction in this promise that chains him to her more surely than anything else. Bite him, scourge him, roar at him: he will keep coming back for more, for this. It's as necessary to him as breathing. << More, and stronger. And stronger. >> (Szadath to Hraedhyth)

Only when Taikrin is near does Azaylia turn her head, and only enough to give the older woman a sidelong look, "Don't you hurt him." Perhaps unnecessary, given what the brownrider has just said. "I'm not-- thank you." She doesn't have it in her to argue, to explain to her once-wingmate that she's the ''worst''. "You are tough. The Weyr needs someone strong." Her eyes slide back to the dragons, expression softening as she watches. Hraedhyth is back to nuzzling the brown, pausing only to nip and groom Szadath in an attempt to smooth over her earlier rage.

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth doesn't argue, which isn't the same as agreeing with the boisterous brown. After making sure his muzzle is clean, she aims her own at a pale egg that blends in well with the sands, << This egg. It has the right color. >> She confirms nothing, says nothing, the queen only ever dealing in truths. That doesn't mean she isn't willing to humor Szadath and his illusions of grandeur.

"I don't ''want'' to hurt him. I want to work with him." Maybe she even believes what she's saying, too. "The Weyr needs someone strong, and it needs someone to take care of it too. Someone to mother it and make sure it's got food and a bed and someone to tuck it in, yeah? That ain't ever been me." It's hard no to watch Szadath submit to Hraedhyth's care-- he genuinely seems to flourish under the attention. He's still looking at the eggs, but every now and then he turns to butt his head, feline-like, against Hraedhyth's chin. "I used to want to hurt everyone, you know, when I was young." Her admission is soft, and she's still not looking at Azaylia. "Younger'n you. 'Cause I reckoned I was owed it, because life hadn't been fair to me. Now, I mostly just want to protect people from ever wanting to feel that way. Does that make sense?"

Dragon> There's no reason for Szadath to doubt Hraedhyth's wisdom in this. << I think so. This one is also large. >> Larger than the others, anyways, though Szadath hasn't the faintest idea whose it might be. For all he can recall, these are every one his offspring and Iesaryth is just here for kicks. << And this. >> He doesn't quite touch his muzzle to the two indicated, but he's clearly tasting the air above them. (Szadath to Hraedhyth)

The sound of frustration that leaves Azaylia, subtle as it is, while she watches her lifemate. Jealousy? "I didn't know that." Some of the tension leaves her frame, eyes sliding from the sands over to Taikrin. "I can't... I get sick. Hurting people it's..." There's a quick shake of her head, forcing herself to forget for now. For the brownrider's words, "It makes sense. It does." She reaches over to find Taikrin's hand, her own sweaty palm giving it a squeeze.

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth's contralto is husky with amusement, << It is. >> Larger. The queen has settled as much as she allows during her constant vigilence, her head lifted high as his goes low. << You have Hunted strong humans? >> Searched. Only the best for their nightmarish brood.

"It's not for you," Taikrin supplies helpfully. "That's one of the things I like most about you, you know. You don't want to hurt anyone. No-- you want everyone to be happy. It's a precious thing. Ain't many people make it to where you are that are still that way." Her hand is dry and calloused and strong when she squeezes back on Azaylia's, and it's accompanied by a faint, crooked grin for the younger rider.

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Szadath isn't lying, but his bluff unconcern masks a deeper insecurity. << I have not found any worthy of them, yet. >> AKA: Szadath is a terrible search dragon. << I have inspected some that have been brought in. They are worthy. I will have to look further, soon. >>

It's Taikrin's grin that keeps her gaze, Azaylia slow to pull her hand away, "It is?" Brown pools might get slightly larger, tarnished innocence all too obvious as the goldrider asks, "You don't think it's... it makes me stupid?" She doesn't have it in her to sound hopeful, "Childish?"

Dragon> What does he have to be insecure about? Szadath has no faults, and Hraedhyth will take it upon herself to remind him. << You do important work. >> With the wings, guarding the sands. He has no ''time'', see? Her fire licks at him, building on the flawless brown's already sizable ego. << Good. >> She trusts his judgement. (Hraedhyth to Szadath)

"Of course not. It makes you sweet. And caring. Pure. I ain't lying when I say it'll make you a great Weyrwoman. Like Brekke, maybe, or Moreta." Taikrin must use these lines on all the girls-- she's smooth, so smooth in her delivery. And sincere, too, for all the corniness. She reaches out to rest one of those tough hands against Azaylia's cheek. "Don't you ever change, you hear me? You're just right just like you are."

Dragon> True. So true. The ice of Szadath's mind builds on the flames, frozen tongues of fire burning ever more hot/cold. << We have a new one. >> He shares the taste Iyniroth's mind, of one already being slowly entwined into the net he's sought to built around Glacier. << More for the work of guarding the hatchlings. >> (Szadath to Hraedhyth)

"T-thank you. That's a little, uhm. Much." Smooth or no, Azaylia's own doubt won't allow her to be compared to such legends. Taikrin will be able to feel her cheek press into that toughened palm, expression melting into something even softer. Vulnerable. "I'll..." She can't promise, faltering before her eyes dart back over to the brownrider's face. "I'm glad you think so."

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth is all too quick to inspect what Szadath brings her of Iyniroth. Another brown? This pleases her. << Of Glacier. This is good. >> Her pack within the Pack. << You should test him, sometime. >> To challenge their newest member in some way, because she is unable to do so. Should he do so, the brown is expected to give her a play-by-play, of couse.

Though Taikrin doesn't push the issue, she clearly disagrees with Azaylia's own assessment of herself. "I do think so. Ain't anybody ever told you about how I'm never wrong?" Her voice is still low, soft, as soft as she's trying to make her touch. "I'll take care of you long as I have to."

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Szadath agrees, turning the brown over and over in his mind. << We will test him and test him, so that he will find the proper place. So that we may place him. He must be worthy before he may fly as trusted with us. >> In this, his ability to measure and test and push, he is confident. So confident.

Azaylia's eyes dart to the side, worrying her lower lip as she mulls things over. Her hand is subtly wiped at her hip before it reaches up to take a soft, uncertain hold of Taikrin's wrist. "Do you, uhm. Want to come up to my weyr? For... cake?" Not an empty offer, as there is actually a half-Bonesed cake left on the table.

Dragon> To Szadath, Hraedhyth continues to look over the new brown as Szadath does, giving a low rumble that sounds like she should speak more with the transfer. << Good. >> The queen is in agreement with his methods, leaving the rest up to the confident brown. There's a different, more primal growl from within, << I hunger. >>

"Cake?" Taikrin echoes, her smile growing. Rather than protest the contact, she leans in subtly to Azaylia's grip. "Don't know as how I've ever refused that. Lead on, yeah?" The brownrider won't push, but Taikrin's subtle guidings are often just as effective.

Dragon> To Hraedhyth, Szadath jumps to action, wings half-spread before he's entirely aware of the action. << I go to hunt for you. Tell me what you want, and I will bring it. >> He's already drawing back, stalking carefully over the sands to a place where he might be safe taking flight. << I will provide for you! >>

Cake is Pern's coffee, it would seem. Azaylia gives the brownrider a weak smile, lowering her arm as she turns. She does take the lead, hand sliding from wrist down into Taikrin's hand on the way there. Subtle guiding has mixed results with the goldrider's usual uncertainty, though it's obvious how desperate she is for affection. Despite any inner conflict: Taikrin will be leaving happy.

Dragon> Can he feel the pleasure rolling off her tawny form? Each wave of heat carries with it approval for what a good clutchsire he is and an even better mate. << Herdbeast. A fat one. >> The warrior queen is all too willing to take advantage of his eager services, and after she's gorged he will be rewarded with even ''more'' praise. Like he needs it. (Hraedhyth to Szadath)

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Logs:To The Future

2013-02-24T01:12:23Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Brieli, Taikrin
| where = Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Both Brieli and Taikrin are nearing the end of their patience.
| when = Day 25, Month 1, Turn 31
| gamedate = 2013.02.23
| quote = Give me an hour. I'll bring her around.
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = H'kon, Z'ian, K'del, Jo, Liv, Azaylia, Teris, S'varis, Riorde, Barnabas
| ooc =
| icons = brieli red.jpg, taikrin punch.jpg
| log = Dragon> To Iesaryth, Szadath often varies these days between roiling annoyance and cocksure arrogance. He's more towards the former right now as he barrels his way into Iesaryth's mental presence given that his physical one is, for once, not holding guard on the sands. << Taikrin needs to speak with yours! >> There's a 'now' there, though it's as non-verbal as the unspoken roiling anger at the one who would set himself up to be his rival, his bane-- Arekoth.

Dragon> The sun-splashed waves of the ocean don't quite darken, but maybe ''chill'' a little at the unspoken demand, the underwater pressure Iesaryth wields heavier on the brown for a moment. ''Really''. Her tenor comes after a time, unhurried. << When she has time. Where will yours be? >> She ''is'' on the sands, and has no issues with Arekoth, at the moment - but her rider certainly has no love for ''Arekoth's''. (Iesaryth to Szadath)

Dragon> Can Iesaryth hear the grinding of the gears in Szadath's mind, like blade-against-blade, as he succumbs under that pressure? Only the undulating beat that belongs to Hraedhyth keeps him from being altogether subdued in his instinctive submission. << Here. >> He can't say it, but the image is clearly the council room. << She waits. >> (Szadath to Iesaryth)

Dragon> To Szadath, Iesaryth has no interest in the tides pulling Szadath from the drums that clearly he belongs to; she lightens and lessens as she withdraws, only ocean's whisper remaining. << Soon. >>

Taikrin's sitting in the Weyrleader's chair. Unapologetically. At least she's got the pretense of working as an excuse: there are papers and what looks like a formation chart spread across half the table, and she's got smudges of charcoal on her hands and across her cheek. Despite her focus on her work, there are creases on her brow that have furrowed deep with annoyance: perhaps her formation chart has been mouthing off?

Given Brieli's sat in that very chair, can she really blame Taikrin for presumption? The weyrwoman only takes long enough to complete her duties - or perhaps to prove a point - to arrive, coming in from the bowl in her riding jacket and with a folder under her arm, stride customary brisk. She doesn't even pause to take in the situation, regarding the papers, the brownrider, the frown. "The wings are a problem." It's not accusatory, it's not pointed, it just is what it is. "Who would have expected H'kon to do more than stand in the way."

"''H'kon'' is a problem," Taikrin corrects, looking up from her records with a scowl. "He's being puppeted, I reckon. He'd never think of installing a new Wingleader on his own. Maybe Z'ian, or K'del. Maybe both. Maybe he's bending over for half the bronzeriders in the Weyr-- I wouldn't be surprised." Her fist clenches tightly around her charcoal stick, which creaks ominously. "Next thing, he'll be bending over for Telgar. Or Benden. Or ''Southern''. We got to stop him, Brieli."

"Most certainly, he didn't decide to do it on his own. I would guess, from what Z'ian told me..." Brieli tosses her folder on the table in favor of the drink cart, looking Taikrin's way questioningly - want one? "You're right." Pouring out her own glass first, "He'd rather a bronzerider in charge, to be sure. Though I doubt he'll let outsiders do much, if he ''knows'' about it. There's that, at least. This Boreal insanity has something to do with Telgar, yes?"

"I'm sure it does," Taikrin says darkly. "Jo hinted she might have something to tell me, the other day, before all this mess exploded. Ain't had time to pin her down. I don't reckon it's too complicated a plot for Telgar to pull off, not with them knowing us as well as they do. And now they're sending us Liv-- it's all very convenient." Taikrin slams the pencil down onto her papers in an outburst surprising only because she's been so good about holding them in over the last few weeks. "I got half the wings behind me, just like you wanted. Appoint me, and I'll back you. I'll take care of the other half of them, and I'll take care of Azaylia. This whole ''thing'' is going fucking insane, and if we don't stop it there ain't going to be ''any'' fixing it." By the time she's done, her cheeks are flushed and she's half out of her chair with her fervor.

With a sigh, "Jo. That's likely what Z'ian was talking around, too. I haven't had half a chance to talk to her either. And Liv? Who--" Brieli would ask more, but the outburst has her blinking... though it may not be much of a surprise, just given Taikrin ''has'' been so reasonable. Rather than answer right away, she regards the brownrider for a long moment, then crosses to the table and gently puts the drink in her hand, places slender hands on her shoulders to sit her back down. "You're doing a good job," she says. "You're trying. I'm sorry no one's giving you credit. I know what that's like." She'll offer the older woman a brief, if wistful smile, then goes to get her own drink. "Azaylia was hysterical when I talked to her about it. I'm partially trying to protect her from having to deal with more... shit than we've already had to. Everything hurts her too much..." A pause. "Do you really think she'll listen to you?"

"I cleaned it up with Azaylia. I don't know what you told her, but she was half convinced Szadath was going to start cozying up with Iesaryth, or that I was going to go and fetch Teris, or ''something''. If I tell her it's for the best, she'll believe me. I ''am'' basically her wingleader, ain't I?" Taikrin's lips turn into what's almost a smile, save for the sharp bite in her voice. "You let me handle her. And then wings. I can take care of it, but I can't do it on my own authority. It ain't ''enough''." After her outburst, she's a little calmer. More reasonable. Logical, even, though with still a hint of heat. "We got to take control while there's still something to take. You got to know this."

Pouring out another drink, "All I tried to tell her is that we'd appoint you, and I would be Senior in name only, essentially, and then she started... talking about things like that and crying. I told her things would be the same. I may have been harsh in the end, but that's what got her out of her weyr after Ysavaeth went between." Coming back to the table, glass in hand, Brieli arches fine brows a touch. "I thought she was with the queen's wing - such as it is - now? And... I hope you can. But I really thought she'd trust that I meant it to be for the best too. And you saw the result." She can look a bit regretful for that, sipping at her drink. "Yes. I do." And that sounds regretful too. "I can give you the time to talk to her, if you think it'll help. But there's no other options. Even if Telgar's dealt with, there's Igen and others."

"Sure, she might fly with the queen's wing, but her heart's Glacier. She'll always be Glacier, deep down. And Glacier is mine now." In this, at least, Taikrin is supremely confident. "I'll handle her," she reconfirms. "I got plenty of experience at this." For a moment she's quiet, gazing measuringly at Brieli and her drink. "Give me an hour. I'll bring her around. She understands how important it is for the Weyr to be united. I'll have to fix this disaster with Z'ian and S'varis before it goes too far-- well. Get there next. First things first, yeah?"

"It is, indeed. And I suppose you have a certain amount of experience with handling upset women. How is Riorde doing, by the way?" Because last Brieli saw, the other brownrider was off dancing with former-Exile-slash-Lord-Holders. How she conveys that sort of thing in the arch of fine brows over glass is a mystery, but there it is. "And the wings ''would'' be yours, but I'd imagine Z'ian would be ''grateful'' if you could find a way for him to save face in this mess, yes? He's fairly reasonable, despite... K'del." Her disgust is palpable. "If you convince her, it'll be announced tomorrow. Done. No more fucking around."

"Riorde's fine," Taikrin asserts, a faint crease of confusion on her brow. "She's been a big help with day-to-day in the wing-- especially since I ain't got a second. Don't know how I'd get on without her." Taikrin rises fully, so that she can shuffle her papers together into a messy sheaf. "Done. I'll have it worked out by tonight. We can keep this from going too far. There's still time." And then she hesitates over her paperwork, fingers toying with a corner-- and then extends her hand towards Brieli to shake. "We can do this together."

There's only a nod, but Brieli pauses, confused. "Why ''don't'' you have a second? You should. I imagine, though, that will be a more... serious choice if it's Weyrsecond we're talking about. But I'm glad you have some help. There'll be more work to come." She sets down her glass, trying not to regard Taikrin dubiously about the whole 'worked out by tonight' thing. "Be careful," she warns, perhaps unnecessarily. "She's fragile. I do care about her. I just... want us to be strong." As the brownrider offers her hand, she too hesitates, but then moves swiftly to cross palms with the other woman in a solid shake. "You have my word. We can."

Taikrin doesn't let herself worry about this business of a second, not when she's so busy smiling at Brieli with genuine pleasure over their briefly joined hands. "I care about her too. I'd never do anything to hurt Azaylia-- you have ''my'' word. We'll take care of her, and the Weyr. We will." When she pulls away, it's to gather her folio to her side, and to finally relinquish (for now) the Weyrleader's chair. "I'll go find her now. Make a night of it. She'll be fine. We'll have to have a drink, later, when this all settles. To the future?"

All Brieli does is worry. Or, at least, concern herself with possibilities - and by her expression, faintly uncertain, she's definitely got a few less-good possibilities in mind. "Good. Szadath can let Iesaryth know how it goes?" If Hraedhyth doesn't first. She too takes up her folder and her glass, though she seems to have the records room as a destination in mind. "That sounds like a plan. And if she and Bones haven't eaten all the cake I've sent, you ought to try it. I sent someone to Bakercraft." She tilts her glass Taikrin's way, with a smile of her own. "To the future."

"I'll look for the cake," Taikrin acknowledges dutifully. But then she's ready to head on her way, but not without a lazy salute that complements her crooked smile, and a very sincere, "Have a good evening, Weyrwoman." Can Brieli hear the capital?

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Logs:Welcome to the Madhouse

2013-02-23T21:50:06Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Liv, Taikrin | where = Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr | what = Brownrider Liv is 'transferring' in from Telgar, which is probably codeword for spy. Taikrin..."

{{ Log
| who = Liv, Taikrin
| where = Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Brownrider Liv is 'transferring' in from Telgar, which is probably codeword for spy. Taikrin doesn't care, though, and welcomes her into Glacier. Brownriding women got to stick together!
| when = Afternoon, day 24, month 1, turn 31 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2013.02.23
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership, Glacier
| mentions = Azaylia
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_smug.jpg
| log =
Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr

At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest.

Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention.

A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind.

----

Things are both better and worse at High Reaches Weyr than rumor might suggest. While the Weyr hasn't fallen to anarchy, strange dragons are challenged upon arrival with fervor... and the dragon who interjects to give directions to Iyniroth is neither gold nor bronze but instead the gruff brown Szadath. He emerges from the hatching caverns to supervise. There are directions to the Council Chamber, clearly relayed from his rider who is waiting, alone, in the Weyrleader's chair. She's got the accouterments of a leader, at least: sheafs of papers, a wrapped charcoal stick, and a perpetually tired look.

Iyniroth proved himself to be a passive presence in those first few moments, and polite in the face of negativity; whatever words he offered would have been aimed at announcing himself and his rider and their business here in as truthful a tone as possible and for Szadath his mind turned relieved and thankful. Once landed he takes up less space than a larger brown and lesser space still because he's trying to be Not Here, Don't Mind Him. His rider, Liv, is as honest in her presentation, walking into the chamber as directed with obedience and poise. From where she stops just inside she offers respects. "Telgar's duties, Liv, rider of brown Iyniroth."

"Welcome to High Reaches, Liv," Taikrin greets with a broad smile. Her accent harkens to the more distant mineholds in the Crom region. Though she doesn't rise, she does set aside her work and steeple her hands over her paperwork. "Reckon you know who I am-- Taikrin, Szadath's. Glacier's Wingleader, and I'm acting-- well. The weyrwoman have put me in charge of these things. So. Telgar's sent you over to us. Want to tell me about it?"

"I do," Liv confirms, "and thank you." The brownrider remains likewise mostly unchanging, choosing to stand rather than take a seat, but she doesn't carry a soldier's posture. Instead of tense and rigid she seems calm, like she shows up at new Weyrs to ask to live there every day. She smiles a small, tight smile for mention of Telgar and nods once. "Yes. Well. I'm not overly proud of being sent away like this, to be honest. I guess it's been decided I'm no longer a 'good fit'," air quotes, "for the Weyr."

"No longer a good fit, eh?" the brownrider asks, her smile turning coy. "Well, reckon you could have done worse than High Reaches. We do things a little different around here." She swipes at her short-cropped hair, which leaves a streak of black across her brow. "I got the record they sent over for you. So you got leadership skills? We ain't afraid to use those around here. As it happens, I got a spot open in Glacier seeing as how we've taken on a lot of extra work guarding the queens and the clutches. Reckon that might work out for you?"

Whatever tension there had been before Taikrin's response melts away some when it turns out to not be as bad as she might have thought and a more pleasant smile results. "I was hoping that was the case." The swipe and streak of black give her pause and she stares, almost lifting a hand to point out the mark but hesitating perhaps due to uncertainty. Do you tell your potential new boss that she has charcoal on her face? "...yes. I do. I was wingsecond for the past three years. I'd be happy to fill in wherever I'm needed you have something here, I'm sorry." She taps a finger to her own forehead to help.

Dragon> To Iyniroth, Szadath doesn't have the all-encompassing presence of the queens, or the natural force of one of the bronzes, but his authority pulses in time with the drumbeats of gold Hraedhyth's mind. << So. You want to join my team? >> His voice is loud, strangely echoed, and wreathed faintly in acrid smoke. << Will you? >>

Taikrin's pleasure at Liv's response is jolted into surprise. The hand she raises to echo her gesture only makes it worse, at first, but then she's guffawing and pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket to deal with the mess. "Thanks. Reckon maybe you ''are'' useful to have around, yet. Here." The handkerchief goes away, and a Glacier rider's knot comes out instead. She tosses it across the table with a crooked grin. "Glacier hasn't got a wingsecond, traditionally, but reckon you might have noticed we're not so found on traditions around these parts. We'll have to see what the future brings us. Welcome to Glacier." That sounds, if anything, more formal than he welcome to the Weyr did. "We have a drill coming up later this afternoon, so you can meet the rest of the wing then. The headwoman ought to be able to find you an empty weyr, in the meanwhile, and show you what's what around here. Stuff for your weyr. Whatever it is you need?"

Dragon> To Szadath, Iyniroth has been waiting, perhaps not watching but certainly present. And some other dragon might think to challenge Szadath for being a brown, authority as clutchsire or no, but such things are far from Iyniroth's thoughts and it is as clear as if written out on the walls of his mind. His reply is a warm tenor, a pleasant summer rain. << If you would have me. >>
That guffaw is echoed in the quick grin that shows Liv's bright teeth and she finally approaches the table to accept the knot that Taikrin produces. She plucks it up, looks down at it to examine the cords, nodding compliance to lack of tradition. "I've heard tell. That might be a nice change though. Less traditional." When she looks up she smiles again to show her appreciation. This could have gone a lot worse. "Thank you. I'll be there, to meet them. And I'll find the headwoman. ...thank you."

Dragon> Everything there is to Szadath is on display, though it's hard to say if it's a return courtesy or his own natural inclination. Aggression, loyalty, protectiveness: especially as he asks, << If you will serve to protect Hraedhyth and the eggs, we will have you. You will be one of mine. >> The feeling he extends is weak but omnipresent, one of a tenuous welcome into a link forged by Szadath over the all-encompassing rhythm of Hraedhth's own force. << Welcome. >> It feels clumsy, perhaps a little unnatural, but the link exists to bind together at least Iyniroth's new fellows in Glacier-- and perhaps, tenuously and only on the edges, more. (Szadath to Iyniroth)

Dragon> To Szadath, Iyniroth spends only a very brief moment considering that offer, as his rider inspects her new knot in the physical world. And just as quickly as she is to accept her new position, Iyniroth too takes that link and winds himself up in it, forging together the two chains that are SzadathHraedhyth and Iyniroth and welding them together in the heat of a metaphor. Something swells, some calm before a storm feeling. << I am Iyniroth. And I am at your service. >>

"We're glad to have you. Not so many women on browns-- reckon we need as many as we can." Taikrin stands, finally, graceful despite however long she's been stuck in that Weyrleader's chair. "And don't be afraid to bespeak Szadath for anything you need. We're all heading to the Snowasis -- our own bar -- after drills, so you'll have friends pretty quick if you've got a decent head for beer. Reckon we can introduce you to the weyrwoman afterwards, too, so's you know who to look at for. Welcome again." It's a dismissal, this time, instead of a greeting.

Sparing words now for the most part, and recognizing the tone and what it's directing her to do, Liv nods again and salutes with ease, no doubt happy to have something familiar to do. She will say, before turning to go, "First round's on me," with a twisted smile. Her exit is as subtle and quiet as her entrance, the atmosphere no different for her absence.

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Logs:AU - Wicked Ways

2013-02-12T08:32:29Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = Backwater Mine Country, Bitra Hold
| what = In an alternate reality, life for Taikrin goes on in the only way she knows how.
| when = Day 14, Month 3, Turn 23
| gamedate = 2013.02.12
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = AU, Vignette
| mentions = Milani, Tiriana, K'del
| ooc = What if Tiriana had insisted that the dirty convicts weren't going anywhere near her eggs? What then for Taikrin, who had nowhere else to go and knew no other life to live?
| icons = taikrin_confused.jpg
| log =

Traveling would be so much easier with a dragon.

The thought had occurred to Taikrin, off and on, in the time since she'd been summarily expelled from the Weyr after finishing her labor sentence. She hadn't been all that surprised that that bitch of a Weyrwoman had turned her out, after all-- who would want filthy convicts like herself around their precious little dragons, anyways? She suspected the Weyrleader and his Headwoman mate had felt badly for her: they'd given her some marks and travel clothes and a backpack to carry her meager possessions, since her still-healing broken arm made travel so cumbersome.

That hadn't stopped her from filching three gem-set rings, two mark pouches, and a very fine dagger before she set off up the road for Greenfields.

Zuman hadn't been all that keen to take her back on, since she was a known and recorded quantity to the authorities now. He'd reluctantly sent her traveling on further still, to a man in Bitra who needed someone with a strong back and few scruples.

So now she worked in a quarry by day and ran 'special errands' by night in the surrounding little towns. It wasn't so bad; Ganner had been released not long after she had, and the older man had traveled with her all the way to Bitra. He'd been so intent on trying to convince her to apply to a trade, as old as she was. To get some learning-- to at ''least'' learn to ride. To make something of herself.

Well, Taikrin had made something of herself alright. Nobody was faster with a knife than she was, and few people as deadly. Ganner had eventually given up and traveled down south, on the rumor of 'clean living and decent work'. He'd tried to get her to come with him, but at that point her new boss had already started her on wetwork and she was flush with the marks her new lifestyle could provide. She'd sent him off, this man who'd protected her back and honor and her life, with vague promises and shiftless reassurances. And he'd left.

And so she was alone in this filthy backwater bar filled with miners and laborers and gamblers. That's fine. That's how she liked it, anyways. A crew only got you in trouble-- a crew only got you ''caught''. It was safer to work alone.

"Come on, you gonna order or what? Holding up the line, here, mine-rat."

The voice, thick with decades of coal dust and annoyance both, shook Taikrin out of her reverie. Distracted, she orderd her beer from the seedy bartender and stepped aside with a mocking half-bow. "After you."

She caught only a glimpse of his face -- ''familiar, so familiar, but from where?'' -- because out of nowhere a hand was on her shoulder and whirling her around and straight into the fist belonging to another familiar face.

The first ugly advanced on her, cracking his knuckles while his buddy held her upright. "Didn't we tell you to stay the FUCK out of here, you degenerate whore? You and your kind ain't welcome around these parts!"

"Well," Taikrin began, spitting blood onto the floor around a cocky grin. "Reckon it's hard ter say, yeah? Couldn't hear much what with havin' yer woman's legs wrapped around my head and all."

"Fucking filthy SLUT!"

There was another fist flying at Taikrin's face, but this time she was ready for it. A heel kicked up backwards took care ugly #2's future children while she ducked downwards and away. Ugly #1 ended up planting his fist into his buddy, which sent him stumbling backwards into a heavy-set miner on a stool at the bar. He roared his displeasure, and within moments the filthy barroom had descended into total chaos.

In this midst of it all, Taikrin managed to squirm her way off into an unnoticed corner. Taking a much-abused handkerchief out of her pocket, she dabbed at the blood leaking from her split lip and grinned a ghastly grin. That hadn't gone so poorly. Now to take the marks she'd just pickpocketted and--

That was strange. Such a strange feeling. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she reached down to scratch the sudden itch on her stomach, and knicked her fingers on two inches of steel instead. Bewildered, she looked up-- and straight into the coldly satisifed eyes of the man from the bar. The man who'd called her mine-rat.

"That's for what you did to my brother, you filthy mine-rat. Go between and stay lost."

It was so hard to wipe off his spittle from her cheek. When had that happened? And how had she gotten on the floor, anyways? She had all these marks, she had to go. Someone was waiting for her. She couldn't just sit here on this dirty floor. Where had all this blood come from? It was going to be a pain to get it out of her nice going out clothes.

Maybe they would wait, the one who was waiting. She was just a little sleepy. Just a little nap, then she could go meet him (him?). Surely he'd wait just a little longer.

Just...

a little...

longer.

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Logs:AU - Wicked Ways

2013-02-12T08:17:28Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin | where = Backwater Mine Country, Bitra Hold | what = In an alternate reality, life for Taikrin goes on in the only way she knows how. | when = Day 14, ..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = Backwater Mine Country, Bitra Hold
| what = In an alternate reality, life for Taikrin goes on in the only way she knows how.
| when = Day 14, Month 3, Turn 23
| gamedate = 2013.02.12
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = AU, Vignette
| mentions = Milani, Tiriana, K'del
| ooc = What if Tiriana had insisted that the dirty convicts weren't going anywhere near her eggs? What then for Taikrin, who had nowhere else to go and knew no other life to live?
| icons = taikrin_confused.jpg
| log =

Traveling would be so much easier with a dragon.

The thought had occurred to Taikrin, off and on, in the time since she'd been summarily expelled from the Weyr after finishing her labor sentence. She hadn't been all that surprised that that bitch of a Weyrwoman had turned her out, after all-- who would want filthy convicts like herself around their precious little dragons, anyways? She suspected the Weyrleader and his Headwoman mate had felt badly for her-- they'd given her some marks and travel clothes and a backpack to her some meager possessions on her way, since her still-healing broken arm made travel so cumbersome.

That hadn't stopped her from filching three gem-set rings, two mark pouches, and a very fine dagger before she set off up the road for Greenfields.

Zuman hadn't been all that keen to take her back on, since she was a known and recorded quantity to the authorities now. He'd reluctantly sent her traveling on further still, to a man in Bitra who needed someone with a strong back and few scruples.

So now she worked in a quarry by day and ran 'special errands' by night in the surrounding little towns. It wasn't so bad; Ganner had been released not long after she had, and the older man had traveled with her all the way to Bitra. He'd been so intent on trying to convince her to apply to a trade, as old as she was. To get some learning-- to at ''least'' learn to ride. To make something of herself.

Well, Taikrin had made something of herself alright. Nobody was faster with a knife than she was, and few people as deadly. Ganner had eventually given up and traveled down south, on the rumor of 'clean living and decent work'. He'd tried to get her to come with him, but at that point her new boss had already started her on wetwork and she was flush with the marks her new lifestyle could provide. She'd sent him off, this man who'd protected her back and honor and her life, with vague promises and shiftless reassurances. And he'd left.

And so she was alone in this filthy backwater bar filled with miners and laborers and gamblers. That's fine. That's how she liked it, anyways. A crew only got you in trouble-- a crew only got you ''caught''. It was safer to work alone.

"Come on, you gonna order or what? Holding up the line, here, mine-rat."

The voice, thick with decades of coal dust and annoyance both, shook Taikrin out of her reverie. Distracted, she orderd her beer from the seedy bartender and stepped aside with a mocking half-bow. "After you."

She caught only a glimpse of his face -- ''familiar, so familiar, but from where?'' -- because out of nowhere a hand was on her shoulder and whirling her around and straight into the fist belonging to another familiar face.

The first ugly advanced on her, cracking his knuckles while his buddy held her upright. "Didn't we tell you to stay the FUCK out of here, you degenerate whore? You and your kind ain't welcome around these parts!"

"Well," Taikrin began, spitting blood onto the floor around a cocky grin. "Reckon it's hard ter say, yeah? Couldn't hear much what with havin' yer woman's legs wrapped around my head and all."

"Fucking filthy SLUT!"

There was another fist flying at Taikrin's face, but this time she was ready for it. A heel kicked up backwards took care ugly #2's future children while she ducked downwards and away. Ugly #1 ended up planting his fist into his buddy, which sent him stumbling backwards into a heavy-set miner on a stool at the bar. He roared his displeasure, and within moments the filthy barroom had descended into total chaos.

In this midst of it all, Taikrin managed to squirm her way off into an unnoticed corner. Taking a much-abused handkerchief out of her pocket, she dabbed at the blood leaking from her split lip and grinned a ghastly grin. That hadn't gone so poorly. Now to take the marks she'd just pickpocketted and--

That was strange. Such a strange feeling. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she reached down to scratch the sudden itch on her stomach, and knicked her fingers on two inches of steel instead. Bewildered, she looked up-- and straight into the coldly satisifed eyes of the man from the bar. The man who'd called her mine-rat.

"That's for what you did to my brother, you filthy mine-rat. Go between and stay lost."

It was so hard to wipe off his spittle from her cheek. When had that happened? And how had she gotten on the floor, anyways? She had all these marks, she had to go. Someone was waiting for her. She couldn't just sit here on this dirty floor. Where had all this blood come from? It was going to be a pain to get it out of her nice going out clothes.

Maybe they would wait, the one who was waiting. She was just a little sleepy. Just a little nap, then she could go meet him (him?). Surely he'd wait just a little longer.

Just...

a little...

longer.

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Logs talk:AU - Happy Families

2013-02-12T07:31:39Z

Taikrin: Comment provided by Taikrin - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on "[[Logs:AU - Happy Families]]"
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

[[Varied/Comments|Varied]] ([[User:Varied|Varied]] ([[User talk:Varied|talk]])) left a comment on Tue, 12 Feb 2013 06:43:26 GMT.

<comment date="2013-02-12T06:43:26Z" name="Varied" signature="[[User:Varied|Varied]] ([[User talk:Varied|talk]])">
... *sob*
</comment>
[[Azaylia/Comments|Azaylia]] ([[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])) left a comment on Tue, 12 Feb 2013 06:50:13 GMT.

<comment date="2013-02-12T06:50:13Z" name="Azaylia" signature="[[User:Dragonshy|Dragonshy]] ([[User talk:Dragonshy|talk]])">
Noooooo. ;^; Everything is so terrible. NO. K'DEL. MY HEART. STAHP. This was beautiful and tragic. Tragically beautiful.
</comment>
[[Barnabas/Comments|Barnabas]] ([[User:Barnabas|Barnabas]] ([[User talk:Barnabas|talk]])) left a comment on Tue, 12 Feb 2013 07:01:28 GMT.

<comment date="2013-02-12T07:01:28Z" name="Barnabas" signature="[[User:Barnabas|Barnabas]] ([[User talk:Barnabas|talk]])">
OOoouuuuch.
</comment>
[[Taikrin/Comments|Taikrin]] ([[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])) left a comment on Tue, 12 Feb 2013 07:31:39 GMT.

<comment date="2013-02-12T07:31:39Z" name="Taikrin" signature="[[User:Taikrin|Taikrin]] ([[User talk:Taikrin|talk]])">
Stop making it hard to continue to kick K'del like the sad puppy he is! ._.
</comment>

Logs:Taikrin Does Damage Control

2013-02-12T07:26:57Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Azaylia, Taikrin
| where = Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = After her fight with Brieli, Azaylia is a mess. And Taikrin is all too happy to pick up the pieces.
| when = Day 17, Month 13, Turn 30
| gamedate = 2013.02.11
| quote = "Sometimes it's like the ones we're closest to know all the worst spots to hit us, yeah?"
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions = Brieli, H'kon, K'del, Riorde, Teris, Tiriana
| ooc =
| icons = azaylia thinking.jpg, taikrin trouble.jpg
| log = Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
----
Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia.

Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy.

Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries.

Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.
----

Since this afternoon, no doubt Szadath has noticed Hraedhyth burning red hot one moment, and ice cold the next. Pressing close only to turn around in the next few minutes to snap at him, the queen is obviously upset. This time, she hasn't gone and forced it onto the rest of the dragons of the Weyr. She allows them to remain calm. Oblivious. Inside the weyr, Azaylia is curled up on a couch that has gained a noticeable Bones-sized dent in the cushions. There's no sign of the man now. Just the weyrwomen with her head buried in crossed arms atop the arm-rest, looking so much like a dark blue wilted flower. Her hair has come loose, hiding her face, which is for the best judging from the various handkerchiefs and cloth bits which surround her.

Everything is fine with Taikrin. Totally fine. That's the impression she's been aiming to give everyone in her totally-not-frantic running around the Weyr the last few days. She's been doing her damndest to put in a total 'in charge and in control and everything is fine' spin on the unrest that's surged since Hraedhyth's initial upset. Now, finally, free of her latest bout of reassuring Mielline, she charges authoritatively up towards Azaylia's weyr from deep within the council chamber. Szadath, who has born the gold's unrest stoicly until now, looks with interest towards the weyr. "Azaylia?" There's only a moment's hesitation at the entryway before Taikrin pushes tentatively inside. "You up?"

The reply isn't instant, though Azaylia's back straightens to have her looking over her shoulder at the entrance. Palming at her swollen, wet face, she answers with a throat sore from crying, "''Go away!''" Just as Hraedhyth eases back into Szadath, "N-no! Come here. In here. Please." With one last solid sniffle-snort, she aims to compose herself for the brownrider's visit. Fingers seek out and find the ties which secure her hair, letting it all fall rather than looking haphhazard. "Yes?" She finally answers with a swallow, sitting up and facing Taikrin.

"Shit--" Taikrin can't quite move fast enough to get to Azaylia's side, to crouch before her and offer a hug or hands to grasp or something. Her own upset is clear in the grim white line of her lips. "Are you okay? What happened? What did he do? Szad didn't tell me-- you should have called me! What happened?"

Azaylia isn't terribly receptive to ''Taikrin's'' attempts to comfort, and it shows. Much like the gold out on the ledge, she wavers between accepting and lashing out. "Brieli." Not K'del. "She said the most horrib-ble..." With a swallow, she tenses, "It doesn't matter." Desperate to convince herself of this, she closes her eyes. Her arms reach up to hug herself, and when her eyes open they focus on the brownrider with a glint of something intense, "Do you want to be ''her'' Acting Weyrleader?" An accusation, more than a question.

Since when has Taikrin let a little thing like someone not particularly wanting her attentions stop her? Since Azaylia doesn't seem receptive to much else, Taikrin just sits back on her heels and rests a hand on either side of her on the couch. "What did Brieli say?" There's a note of wary caution in her voice now, to go with pale-faced concern. "What do you mean, her Acting Weyrleader?"

Taikrin's answer only has brown eyes narrowing. Not the first time today, but certainly the first the brownrider's seen on Azaylia's face. "If we're brought to Council. You and Brieli as Acting..." The anger's still fresh. The hurt even more so. She shakes her head, face screwing up as she attempts to not let what else was said cloud her. "Szadath caught ''Hraedhyth''." She's trying not to raise her voice, as rough and small as it sounds by now, "Not Iesaryth. You're my Weyrleader." Hraedhyth's jaws snap all too close to her brown mate's cheek, "Unless you ''want'' to be Brieli's. Szadath can sit on ''her'' ledge, instead." This? This is a whole new creature sitting on the couch in front of the older woman.

Dragon> There's an unusual reluctance to Szadath's sending, and his mind is thin (so thin!) as if hiding. Subdued, as close to a whisper as the brown can muster, he asks, << Mine needs to know what yours did to Hraedhyth's. >> A flash of an image of a crying girl who looks a like distorted Azaylia. (Szadath to Iesaryth)

"Okay," Taikrin says, in a cautious and totally non-commital sort of way. "Is that what Brieli said? About if the Council pushes us?" Her face, usually so expressive, has gone sort of shut-down and flat except for the faint smile she's trying out. It's possibly meant to be reassuring. "Is there any question Hraedhyth's got Szad? Most those new scars are hers. I can barely even pull him away from her long enough to fly me up to my weyr. ''Believe'' me when I tell you he ain't leaving any time soon for Iesaryth's ledge. I ain't leaving you either-- we're wingmates, yeah? Ain't I always looked out from you, from the time Hraedhyth was smaller'n Szad's head? Ain't we wingmates? Tell me what's going on and we'll work through it together, yeah?"

Dragon> There's a chill wind over the ocean tonight, not her normal sunny sparkle on the waves; Iesaryth's underwater ''weight'' does not press too hard on Szadath, given the thin, insubstantial presence. But still; << Hraedhyth's asked questions. She answered. >> That is not all, but there's a certain sense of protectiveness about her for her rider, defensiveness. << She says what people need to hear, not what they want to. >> That sounds like a direct quote, or close enough. (Iesaryth to Szadath)

Dragon> To Iesaryth, Szadath disappears altogether for a moment-- there's something about flashing teeth near his face. When he reappears, it's even softer than before. Stage-whisper. Sussurating wind. << We need to hear what she knows. >>

Azaylia reaches up to crush an eye with her palm, giving a soft nod. It's too childish, given how she's been since Taikrin stepped into her weyr. But it's more like her usual self. "I-I guess not. No." With a another sniff, her arms relax until her hands are in her lap, worrying at the fabric there. "I'm sorry. That was selfish." An admittance that has her lower lip trembling, "All I care about is what ''I'' want. I'm sorry. I'm just... Brieli and I got into a fight. She said..." Lips purse, too much to recall without losing what composure she's managed to gain since the argument. "A lot of things. She lied to me. And I... I lost my temper and just proved her right and I can't... I'm a terrible weyrwoman." Shoulders slump, muscles slack, brown puddles are aimed Taikrin's way, "We're not even really wing-mates anymore. I had to leave Glacier, after the flights. A Senior can't be in-- But I'm ''not'' Senior. I'm not anything."

Dragon> That is something Iesaryth can't do, not in full, only; << Cadejoth's told her things. >> Things that the queen is ''honor-bound'' not to reveal, that hers was, and still is. For a moment, there is only the sound of the waves crashing, before, << They argued. They have before. >> There's a fuzzy flash of something that feels long long ago, in Hraedhyth's weyr, when the other gold's rider only wore gray. << It will pass. >> She's not totally certain of that, but makes an effort. (Iesaryth to Szadath)

"Well ''technically'' I'd be your Wingleader now, yeah?" Taikrin offers with a ghost of a teasing smile. "Do what I say or it's ten laps around the Weyr bowl?" But now she seems on firmer ground, at least-- if Azaylia is coming her way, Taikrin is there to catch. She's always there to catch. "You're Azaylia, weyrwoman to Hraedhyth, and you're doing your best in a sharding awkward situation. I'm sorry you and Brieli got into a fight. You're both under lots of stress, yeah? You been friends since the queens were shelled, though. I reckon you'll make it up eventually. But I'm here to take care of you, now. I'm sorry I ain't been more-- I figured maybe you needed some space to figure stuff out. Want to tell me about it?"

There's a weak curl to her lips for the idle threat of laps around the bowl. Azaylia doesn't look ready to leave her misery nest, but as she settles so does Hraedhyth. The queen spends her time grooming Szadath as if she weren't just picking at him for ages - paying special attention to any nicks she might have left on him. "I don't know if we can ever be friends again." Ah, the sound of youthful despair. "No, it's okay. You have, uhm, Riorde and your Wingleader duties. Really, it's okay." Despite her possessive streak, she hasn't forgotten the brownrider's girlfriend. "I said that you and I could stand up to the council. She said I couldn't handle it. Them. That the Weyr needed someone strong. That I... was childish. Th-the most... cruel things she's ever said to me." Things that threaten to have her bursting into tears all over again.

"That was pretty cruel," Taikrin allows. "Sometimes it's like the ones we're closest to know all the worst spots to hit us, yeah?" She's in for the comforting just as Szadath is, albeit in his case it's more submitting to Hraedhyth's ministrations. "I should be here for you more. I forget, sometimes, that you ain't done any of this before and that there's nobody who ''has'' to help you. When Teris went through it, at least she had Tiriana around to tell her what was what. I'll do better by you, I promise. Now." The brownrider leans forward a little, still smiling, and tries keep her tone light. "''Have'' you thought at all about what you want to do if the council comes knocking? I'm doing my best to keep the Wingleaders in line, but--" There's a whole world in what Taikrin leaves unsaid.

"I thought she was my friend." Azaylia whimpers, all to susceptible to being comforted now. Vulnerable. "Teris." The name has the goldrider biting her lip, "There's a rider from here, trying to get... maybe another gold transferred to High Reaches. I, We, can't let that happen." The 'we' likely includes Brieli, despite their earlier disagreement. "You don't have to. You're doing so much just by being a good rider." As apposed to the brownrider's usual antics. Still, it earns the older woman a hug, wrapping her arms around Taikrin's neck and leaning in. "I have." She answers after releasing her once-wingmate, "I wouldn't let a gold transfer in. There hasn't been anything to happen that would show the council that you were a bad choice for Acting. Though..." Now her face is troubled, "H'kon ''did'' catch Brieli. It wouldn't be right to just cut him out." With a shake of her head, "I'd want to make sure they knew that we had things under control, until the next flight." Obvious hope that it isn't another double fiasco.

"Szadath wouldn't leave Hraedhyth for Iskiveth. Once, turns ago, maybe. But she's left and they've both grown and moved on. And I wouldn't support Teris over you. You know that, right? Even if they offered to send her in to us? Even if she ''asked'' for us to take her?" There's a parable here about a gold in the hand. "There's enough work to be done that there's no need to cut H'kon out. We could use the help." Taikrin is using her most reasonable voice-- the one she's been practicing over and over with for sevendays now. She's reasonable when she returns the hug, and reasonable when she's smiling, and reasonable when Szadath tentatively starts nosing back at Hraedhyth. "But I'm having trouble with the Wingleaders. You can't have two people over them-- it's like when you got a kid, and the dad says no so they go and ask the mom instead and the mom will say yes on account of how she secretly don't like the dad so much?" Somewhere towards the end Taikrin pulls into another broad, teasing grin. "We got a couple of turns to get through, yet. No need to cut H'kon out-- make him my second instead. I could use the help. And I reckon two browns ought to be able to stand up to any troublesome old bronze, yeah?"

Azaylia doesn't hide the relief that floods her at the brownrider's reassurance. "I wasn't too worried about the dragons." She admits, but it's no secret that Taikrin is one to speak of Teris fondly. Hraedhyth is a much more receptive mate now, not that she or her rider are completely calmed. At least there's not going to be any more ire aimed at Szadath, as the gold noses back and encourages his affection. Problems with the Wingleaders has the goldrider looking troubled, "I tried. I mean, not really. It was another argument." She's had so many of those lately. "I don't think he'll be your 'second. And it doesn't feel right to just take it all away because what he thinks is best isn't what we think." Trying not to be selfish. "I could try to talk to him again? Calmly. Officially?" She looks back to Taikrin, searching for the older rider's opinion. Perhaps her approval.

"Offer it to him officially. As a weyrwoman to a rider. He can be my second, and I'll work with him. He can even be in charge of-- something. I'd have to think about it. But the wings can't be divided-- it's bad for them." Taikrin's voice is warm with approval, as is her crooked smile. "Everyone's just trying to do what's best for the Weyr. We don't all agree, but sometimes it's good to hear an opinion that ain't yours. We might not agree with H'kon, but that don't ''always'' mean he's wrong." She can be magnanimous in her victory. "Tell him it's his chance to make a real difference, maybe. If you talk business like a Glacier rider, he'll listen. I know you can do it-- I've seen it plenty enough. A weyrwoman doesn't argue with wingriders, right? She just tells 'em what's what."

Dragon> Tiny, tiny, tiny. There's only the barest ghost, the thinnest hint of Szadath, that whispers, << We fix it. >> (Szadath to Iesaryth)

Dragon> To Szadath, Iesaryth might be a bit... dubious, but she accepts this easily enough; no need to say more. She seems pleased by the idea, though. The skepticism could be all her rider's.

Azaylia can't help but manage a smile, a real one, with Taikrin's warm words helping her perk up. "I'll try. If he doesn't accept, I don't know what we'll do. I want to be fair to him and you, Taikrin." Even if H'kon is an ass. "It's the Weyrleader's job to tell the wingriders what to do." She says with newfound respect for the position. Wonder where she picked that up from? "It's a partnership. Just like..." All too suddeny, she deflates, "Like Brieli and I were supposed to be." As she struggles with her sadness, "Thank you, Taikrin. For caring. It really means a lot right now."

"Yeah. It's a partnership. Exactly like that. But you can only lead a dragon to the wherry's nest-- you can't make him hunt, right? Got to just do the best you can and not worry about the rest. I know you can do it." To the deflated Azaylia, she offers more quietly, "I know she said some stuff that really hurt you. But she's been your friend for turns, and she's just as lost as the rest of us trying to do her best. I ain't saying you should forgive and forget or anything like that, just-- keep it in mind. Friends first, yeah?" She straightens up, though doesn't quite rise, and adds, "Glacier's going to be drilling a bit more, now, if Hraedhyth decides she wants to fly with them a bit while she's still able. Or just watch. Or if you both want to join, for a bit of a break. You'll always be one of us, even if you ain't really flying with us."

"I'll try." It's a promise, as much as the weyrwoman is able to give in these uncertain times. "The Weyr is important. It doesn't matter if my... feelings get hurt." Azaylia doesn't sound as if she believes that entirely, but there's an honest attempt. Her eyes remain on the brownrider, clearly touched if somewhat amused by the offer. "She's getting a little too heavy for all that." Hraedhyth resembles that remark. "I'm sure she'll still enjoy watching. Especially Szadath." Because all is well once more in the land of gold and brown. She does rise to her feet, smoothing out her wrinkled skirt with a soft sigh, "I'll be okay. Bones should be back soon. He's off getting me iced cream." During High Reaches winter it's not such a terrible errand, but a time consuming one.

"Okay, if you're sure." Taikrin rises to her feet as well, in a move that starts jaunty and ends in a sort of awkward attempt at dignity as she doesn't entirely know what to with her hands except, at the end, to shove them into the pockets of her coat. "I ''am'' just a dragon away, you know. If there's anything you need, or you ain't sure of, or if you're lonely or whatever, I want you to call me okay? You're my most important business. Everything else can wait, I reckon." Maybe it's a little sappy. Taikrin knows it's sappy-- she hangs a lampshade on it with her overt wink. "She should watch while she can, regardless, before she's stuck indoors. Reckon it'll be some boring sevens for her."

Azaylia is happy to escort Taikrin out of her weyr, if for the chance to be polite rather than the brownrider actually leaving. "O-okay." She's not quite up to smiling, but there are attempts at being called important business. It's a salve to soothe the wounds from earlier, if only temporarily. "I keep trying to tell her that. I'm sure if Szadath is there, after she clutches, it'll be bearable..." If she's able, the brownrider will get another hug, thankfully too drained for it to be crushing, "Have a good night, Taikrin. Clear skies."

Taikrin is always into hugs. She returns it with enthusiasm, and maybe a little bit of a tight squeeze at the end. "You too, Azaylia. Clear skies."

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Logs:Helping Helper who Helps

2013-02-11T04:52:59Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin, Vienne | where = The Snowasis, HRW | what = Vienne is recovering from a cold. Taikrin offers her her services. ALL of her services, in no particular or..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Vienne
| where = The Snowasis, HRW
| what = Vienne is recovering from a cold. Taikrin offers her her services. ALL of her services, in no particular order.
| when = D11 M13 T30
| gamedate = 2013.02.09
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = Divided Leadership
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin.jpg, vienne.jpg
| log =
Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

----

Everyone has had a cold; they suck, but they don't last long. While Vienne spent a few days feeling decidedly under the weather, -- not that it's of any great consequence to anyone -- now she's venturing out again admist a rather leisurely evening in the Snowasis. She sits at a table with a cup of tea in front of her, a hanky balled in one hand and a book she's not really reading, as a wingmate has stopped by to check up on her. After a few topical pleasanties, he's on his way again and the bluerider is left alone, not eager to return to her reading. But really, after a few days with nothing but books to amuse her, just glancing around the bar provides better entertainment.

Taikrin has been woefully unentertaining today. For the better part of the last hour, she's been sequestered in the corner both with the curtain half-drawn. But now she's shaking hands with the older male greenrider wearing Glacier knots. She seems pleased enough with the outcome, as she first leans against the bar to refill her mug. But when she turns around and leans her elbows against the countertop to look out across the crowd, her lips are pressed together in a way that seems thoughtful. Maybe even uncertain?

In her cursory glance, Vienne surely saw Taikrin and the older man, though her attention didn't linger there for any particular amount of time before moving on, skimming over toward some couple who seem to be bickering, on to a few men idly chatting over a few beers. Eventually, though, when the infamous brownrider has landed at the bar and turned her own eyes across the crowd, there's one of those happenstance moments where Vienne meets her gaze. She sends Taikrin a quick, light smile; perhaps it's supposed to be encouraging, given that thoughtful air about the Glacier rider.

Someone should have warned Vienne about how dangerous it is to smile at Taikrin. She smiles back, reflexively, one eyebrow half-cocked. And then she's taking her beer and striding authoritatively over to join the bluerider's table. There she pauses, hands resting against an unoccupied chair opposite, and offers warmly, "Good evening."

Vienne might not have listened, even if someone had told her. And really, it's entirely possible someone has intimated such warnings, given the talk that gets around where Taikrin is concerned. But the small bluerider does smile and though she might have been content to leave it at that, when Taikrin starts heading her way, there's the lift of Vienne's expression, a little expectant, a little curious. "Evening," she returns, glance dropping to the hand on that chair. "It's free," she points out. It could be the kind of answer that fits a request to borrow a chair, if the bar were really so crowded as to warrant it, or it could just be an invitation to sit.

"Is it?" Taikrin asks, a hint of a tease in her voice as she settles herself down into it and folds her legs at the knee. "I wouldn't have reckoned you spending the evening with an empty table. Your wing doing alright by you? You're settling in okay, yeah?" Her smile is charming, but her tone of voice is probably what she thinks of as professional. It sounds pretty close to casual flirtation. "Anything I can do for you?"

For that teasing question, Vienne just bounces her eyebrows high, a wordless question that teases right back, bold, perhaps, from a dainty little bluerider in the face of someone with Taikrin's reputation. Her own smile is amused as the spare seat is claimed and she lifts a hand to gesture toward her departed friend, standing at the bar waiting for service. "My wingmate just checked in on me." So at least her table hasn't always been empty. But she cants her head, eyes narrowed faintly as she regards the brownrider. "Do you remember me?"

"So long as you're not alone. You're the bluerider from Igen," Taikrin responds quickly enough, still with her easy smile. "I ''think'' you were likely at my turnday, though I don't really got the best recollection of it there towards the end." No fangs, no fire-breath, no horns-- Taikrin really does appear pretty mild tonight. "This is why I'm asking about the settling, you know, in case it wasn't obvious. Things have been a little chaotic around here lately, and I don't want you feeling forgotten or what have you."

The quick widening of Vienne's smile promises that she's not surprised Taikrin doesn't have the clearest of memories from the later hours of her turnday party. But she nods, because, "Yes, your turnday. Things have been interesting, but..." She sniffles and shrugs a narrow shoulder, none too worried about the tumultuous situation occurring in the upper ranks. Meanwhile, this is a notably mild Taikrin sitting before her and Vienne has to wonder, "Are you asking me as my weyrleader?" She can't help but smile a little.

Taikrin gets a coy little smile at that question, and her answer isn't an answer. "I'm working on behalf of the weyrwoman, if that's what you're asking. Official capacity." It's not clear if there's a capitol letter in her 'weyrwoman' or not. "Reckon we'll have this whole mess settled out in a few sevendays, but in the meantime we won't have the whole Weyr worrying about being neglected. Besides, I ''always'' make it so that I'm sure all the women in my Weyr are getting on okay, right? Someone's got to do it."

"Official capacity," Vienne repeats, something wry and knowing in the smile she shares. Her glance flicks over the other woman, relaxed as she appears in her chair. "I don't feel neglected," the bluerider assures, that gaze skimming wide again, passing over various heads without seeing any faces. "I can't speak for anyone else." Her grin cracks open a little more; there's something she finds funny. Still, it doesn't mar her polite reply: "I appreciate the attention, though. It's nice to know the leaders are looking out for everyone."

"Good, I'm glad." Taikrin chooses to share in the grin, as if she were completely and totally in on the joke. "Like I said, we're just trying to look out for everyone's best interests. So if there's anything I ''can'' do for you, you'll let me know, yeah? Mielline's the right sort of wingleader, and she takes care of her riders. I don't expect you'll have trouble, but if you do-- well. I'd like to know about it? I like to consider myself a problem solver. The Weyrwoman's problem-solver, for the time being."

Maybe it's just Taikrin's very official offer of assistance that Vienne seems to find amusing, because there's something a little extra proper in the way she gives her curt nod, the stern set of her brow that seems to be meant in jest. "I'll do that." It's all very serious and not quite, at least until her smile quirks to one side. "If I have a problem for you to solve, does that make you my problem-solver as well?"

For a moment, Taikrin's smile goes wider yet. She opens her mouth, closes it, then offers plainly -- and a little ruefully, "Yeah, I reckon you could think of me as your personal problem-solver too. Just doing my part." For a moment she seems once more to be on the verge of saying something else, then adds simply, "Taikrin the problem-solver. That's me."

It's the ruefullness that inspires a light laugh in Vienne, only that, in turn, inspires a harsh, wet fit of coughing that has her craning her head away with that hanky lifted to her mouth. She takes a moment to be sure it's really passed before she turns an apologetic smile toward Taikrin. "Sorry. I was sick. It sounds worse than it is," she mentions, swallowing hard and chasing it with the last of her tea. But back to the matter at hand: "I always wanted one of those," she says with dry humor. "A personal problem-solver." But her glance tightens again, mouth too. "What were you going to say?"

"What was I going to say?" Is that discomfort? "Nothing important-- reckon I been in too many meetings with too many wingleaders lately. Faranth, but some of 'em are self-righteous pricks. But then, some of them are bronzeriders." This Taikrin seems to think is high humor-- but she's also got half an eye on Vienne while she chuckles at her own joke. "Anyways, I reckon I better not keep you if you're not feeling your best. But I did mean it, that bit about whatever I can to help. Even if it's escorting you to meet Madilla."

There's no sign at all that Vienne believes Tairkin's sidestep to be anything other than avoidance. There's no ready, commiserating light in her eye. But she smiles back, willing to let the brownrider get away with it, a chuckle in her chest that is all movement and no sound. "That must be a lot of fun," she quips with the arch of a brow. However, it's with a sigh that she agrees: "I probably should be seeing myself off to bed. I really am on the mend -- it's just at that stage where the cough makes me sound like I'm dying." She turns to tuck her book into the pocket of her jacket that's hanging over the back of her chair, but she flicks another glance at Taikrin. Grinning, she adds, "I'll keep your offer in mind, though."

"Sure thing." Taikrin rises easily to her feet, with her untouched beer in hand. "Rest well. And do go find Journeyman Madilla if you need something for sleeping-- she's got the good stuff. You can tell her I sent you for it. Have a good night, okay?"

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Logs:What a long, strange trip...

2013-02-07T08:54:11Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = Taikrin's Weyr, HRW
| what = Taikrin is having a crisis of faith. Also, one of whiskey. Actually, maybe it's a crisis of faith /in/ whiskey. See what happens when you worship alcohol?!
| when = Mid-Month 9, Turn 25 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.05.09
| quote = Where's that sharding whiskey gone?!
| weather =
| categories = Criminal Activity
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_confused.jpg
| log =

It was a restday, and all Taikrin wanted to do was to get wrecked and get laid – preferably in that order. Shells, forget the girl – I’ll be happy enough if I can just find that sharding whiskey bottle. She hunted through her ransacked weyr, shifting aside dirty clothes and empty bottles in her quest for that one elusive drink. Szadath looked on, neglecting the blinding afternoon sun in favor of keeping a close watch on his rider.

<< You already looked there, >> he pointed out impassively. << Are you sure you have one left? >>

“Yeah, Szad, I know I didn’t drink it. I just got the blasted thing, and I was gonna save it, you know?”

She let out a gusty sigh, allowing herself to collapse backwards onto her unmade bed with boneless grace. “This sucks.”

---

''A sevenday earlier:''

“Faranth, Taikrin, you look like crap.”

The insult stung, coming as it was from a woman who’d given birth to an impressively sized baby boy no more than three days ago. All the brownrider could do was bare her teeth in a rueful smile to her younger sister.

“Oi, maybe if I’m lookin’ so crappy, Laira, I ought to just take me, my sorry hide, and my sorry presents back to th’Weyr, like, see if maybe some /other/ baby—“

The younger woman relented, flinging her arms around her sister’s wiry form to halt her halfway to the door of her little cothold. “I’m only teasing, Taikrin, honestly! Don’t be like that. Come, sit down, stay awhile. The baby’ll be up soon, and I want you to meet her.”

As if by magic, no sooner had Taikrin allowed herself to be settled in a chair by the hearth then a thin wail echoed from the sleeping chamber. Laira disappeared briefly, though her cooing noises were clearly audible, then returned a moment later with a squirming bundle wrapped in a green blanket.

“There, there, hush—see? It’s okay. Your aunt Taikrin’s here to see you, there’s a good boy, don’t show her such a sad face!” Laira soothed the newborn, rocking him instinctively against his tendency to fuss. She settled down onto the seat beside Taikrin, crowding against her despite the brownrider’s sudden, paralyzing tension.

''Shells, he’s so /small/…!''

She reached out a tentative hand towards the wriggling bundle, both fascinated and terrified of how fragile the boy appeared. It was too much to bear, and all at once she snapped to her feet, pacing towards the satchel she’d left by the entrance. The brownrider’s mouth starting running, desperate to hide her trepidation. “Brought something for ‘im. Ain’t no thing, but I saw it couple sevens ago, at a gather, and Szad thought it was nice, so I figured maybe something to keep him company, you know?”

A new bout of nervousness seized her, despite the warm smile on her sister’s face as she turned to watch Taikrin. “What did you find?”

Reaching into the bag, her fingers wrapped around the smooth fabric, clenching spasmodically. This was stupid, she’s going to hate it, she’s going to laugh, Faranth, I can’t give this to her—

<< Taikrin. Chill. I picked it, and it’s perfect. >>

Szadath’s voice was a burst of cold, roaring reality that blasted through her head, whisking away her doubt and uncertainty. Taikrin barreled forward, taking advantage of this loaned confidence, and pulled the stuffed firelizard from her bag.

“Found ‘im, thought he looked, you know, a little familiar.” The firelizard was a light shade of brown, sewn with thick, plush limbs that bore no small resemblance to the dragon resting out in the field. “Something to watch over you guys.”

As Taikrin approached, toy in hand, the blinding smile on her little sister’s face suddenly made all her worries, all her problems and fears and insecurities, a little more distant.

---

Taikrin shifted on her bed, still restless. A finger toyed with her newest scar, tracing the raised line beneath her shirt over and over. It hadn’t healed as well as she would have liked, despite the care she’d gotten. Gentle pressure turned into a stretchy almost-pain as she mindlessly worked the scar tissue. Thoughts of how she’d gotten it, though, of the fight that’d taken place and the urges that had sent her seeking out that bar, ran up hard against the mental block she’d put in place to protect Szadath. With a shudder, she flung herself back to her feet and began pacing.

<< Taikrin… >>

She ground to a halt in front of her dresser and glared at the three empty bottles that sat there like a rebuke. Her fist thudding into the hard wood set them to clanking, but it didn’t refill them no matter how loudly she cursed. “Flaming scorch it, I need—I need—fuck!”

<< … Taikrin…! >>

Whirling around, she had no thought in her head except that she was crawling out of her skin with nervous energy, and she just had to make it go away. She found herself kicking the wall, over and over again, unable to stop despite the ache that was slowly spreading up her booted foot.

<< Taikrin! >>

Overwhelming echoes and shattering cold wrapped around her like a blanket, smothering her in Szadath’s urgent concern. She found herself pressed against his side, unsure of how she’d gotten there. He cupped a wing over her, fiercely protective, as she buried her face in his spicy-familiar scent.

“I don’t know what to do, Szad. I dunno how to fix it, I dunno how to make it stop, I just—“ The brown rumbled, reassurance she could feel down in her bones, and she pulled in a shuddering breath.

<< Whatever you want. We’ll do it together. We’re the best, together. >>

Another voice echoed in her head, hushed and feminine: memories of her sister, complete newborn clutched to her chest. ''He’s your family, and he’ll always love his awesome Aunt Taikrin and her adventures. You’ll be around to take him, right?''

Szadath rustled through her head, brushing up against the walls she’d erected with uncharacteristic gentleness. It was he that sifted through her mind, seeking carefully amongst her most treasured memories.

And one held precious above all others, softer and more delicate, maybe, but with hidden strength. Do something about it. Take the step. Let me help you. She lay still, letting herself, for once, just be. Memories of sweetness filling her head, the feel of Szadath’s bulk, warm beneath her cheek. Everything seemed to be balanced on a knife-thin edge. She could feel herself teetering over the brink; on one side loomed everything she’d locked away behind a wall of fear and alcohol, all the terrible things she’d done and continued to do. On the other was Szadath, his steadfast love wrapping around her and through her, the thickest of the ties that bound her to those she held closest.

For one brief, shining moment, it was all clear. What she had to do. What she needed. What they both needed. Neither spoke as Taikrin pulled herself up the brown’s straps, clipping herself in even as she allowed herself to sink further within him. As one they moved towards the ledge, and it was just before he unfurled his wings that she let the barriers drop – quick, like lancing an infection.

She laid herself bare to him, and in return he simply, silently, wrapped his mind around hers. No need for digging, for prying, for examining the hidden thoughts that stained her mind. There was only them, together, pushing their wings to the limit as they raced the wind up and out. They didn’t have a destination in mind – didn’t need one. All they needed was this: two minds, wrapped up in each other as they hadn’t been since the first months following impression, driving themselves on for nothing but the sheer joy of feeling their young, strong bodies defying gravity with every wingbeat.

They were together. They were free.

It was hours before they got back, both feeling strangely loose and empty behind the bone-deep exhaustion. Taikrin still felt numb, still felt that knife-edge balance, but it was a sort of balance. It was more than she’d had for nearly as long as she could remember, and she was doing her best to hang on to that feeling, to cling to it as ward against the gentle pull exerted by the Snowasis. As she dragged herself through the nighthearth on her way towards the baths, it was just luck that she happened to be twisting in just the right way to catch sight of the note.

''Treasure maps? Search? I wonder if it involves a lot of flying straight…''

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Logs:What a long, strange trip...

2013-02-07T08:51:41Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin | where = Taikrin's Weyr, HRW | what = Taikrin is having a crisis of faith. Also, one of whiskey. Actually, maybe it's a crisis of faith /in/ whiskey. S..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = Taikrin's Weyr, HRW
| what = Taikrin is having a crisis of faith. Also, one of whiskey. Actually, maybe it's a crisis of faith /in/ whiskey. See what happens when you worship alcohol?!
| when = Mid-Month 9, Turn 25 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.05.09
| quote = Where's that sharding whiskey gone?!
| weather =
| categories = Criminal Activity
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_confused.jpg
| log =

It was a restday, and all Taikrin wanted to do was to get wrecked and get laid – preferably in that order. Shells, forget the girl – I’ll be happy enough if I can just find that sharding whiskey bottle. She hunted through her ransacked weyr, shifting aside dirty clothes and empty bottles in her quest for that one elusive drink. Szadath looked on, neglecting the blinding afternoon sun in favor of keeping a close watch on his rider.

<< You already looked there, >> he pointed out impassively. << Are you sure you have one left? >>

“Yeah, Szad, I know I didn’t drink it. I just got the blasted thing, and I was gonna save it, you know?”

She let out a gusty sigh, allowing herself to collapse backwards onto her unmade bed with boneless grace. “This sucks.”

A sevenday earlier:

“Faranth, Taikrin, you look like crap.”

The insult stung, coming as it was from a woman who’d given birth to an impressively sized baby boy no more than three days ago. All the brownrider could do was bare her teeth in a rueful smile to her younger sister.

“Oi, maybe if I’m lookin’ so crappy, Laira, I ought to just take me, my sorry hide, and my sorry presents back to th’Weyr, like, see if maybe some /other/ baby—“

The younger woman relented, flinging her arms around her sister’s wiry form to halt her halfway to the door of her little cothold. “I’m only teasing, Taikrin, honestly! Don’t be like that. Come, sit down, stay awhile. The baby’ll be up soon, and I want you to meet her.”

As if by magic, no sooner had Taikrin allowed herself to be settled in a chair by the hearth then a thin wail echoed from the sleeping chamber. Laira disappeared briefly, though her cooing noises were clearly audible, then returned a moment later with a squirming bundle wrapped in a green blanket.

“There, there, hush—see? It’s okay. Your aunt Taikrin’s here to see you, there’s a good boy, don’t show her such a sad face!” Laira soothed the newborn, rocking him instinctively against his tendency to fuss. She settled down onto the seat beside Taikrin, crowding against her despite the brownrider’s sudden, paralyzing tension.

Shells, he’s so /small/…!

She reached out a tentative hand towards the wriggling bundle, both fascinated and terrified of how fragile the boy appeared. It was too much to bear, and all at once she snapped to her feet, pacing towards the satchel she’d left by the entrance. The brownrider’s mouth starting running, desperate to hide her trepidation. “Brought something for ‘im. Ain’t no thing, but I saw it couple sevens ago, at a gather, and Szad thought it was nice, so I figured maybe something to keep him company, you know?”

A new bout of nervousness seized her, despite the warm smile on her sister’s face as she turned to watch Taikrin. “What did you find?”

Reaching into the bag, her fingers wrapped around the smooth fabric, clenching spasmodically. This was stupid, she’s going to hate it, she’s going to laugh, Faranth, I can’t give this to her—

<< Taikrin. Chill. I picked it, and it’s perfect. >>

Szadath’s voice was a burst of cold, roaring reality that blasted through her head, whisking away her doubt and uncertainty. Taikrin barreled forward, taking advantage of this loaned confidence, and pulled the stuffed firelizard from her bag.

“Found ‘im, thought he looked, you know, a little familiar.” The firelizard was a light shade of brown, sewn with thick, plush limbs that bore no small resemblance to the dragon resting out in the field. “Something to watch over you guys.”

As Taikrin approached, toy in hand, the blinding smile on her little sister’s face suddenly made all her worries, all her problems and fears and insecurities, a little more distant.

Taikrin shifted on her bed, still restless. A finger toyed with her newest scar, tracing the raised line beneath her shirt over and over. It hadn’t healed as well as she would have liked, despite the care she’d gotten. Gentle pressure turned into a stretchy almost-pain as she mindlessly worked the scar tissue. Thoughts of how she’d gotten it, though, of the fight that’d taken place and the urges that had sent her seeking out that bar, ran up hard against the mental block she’d put in place to protect Szadath. With a shudder, she flung herself back to her feet and began pacing.

<< Taikrin… >>

She ground to a halt in front of her dresser and glared at the three empty bottles that sat there like a rebuke. Her fist thudding into the hard wood set them to clanking, but it didn’t refill them no matter how loudly she cursed. “Flaming scorch it, I need—I need—fuck!”

<< … Taikrin…! >>

Whirling around, she had no thought in her head except that she was crawling out of her skin with nervous energy, and she just had to make it go away. She found herself kicking the wall, over and over again, unable to stop despite the ache that was slowly spreading up her booted foot.

<< Taikrin! >>

Overwhelming echoes and shattering cold wrapped around her like a blanket, smothering her in Szadath’s urgent concern. She found herself pressed against his side, unsure of how she’d gotten there. He cupped a wing over her, fiercely protective, as she buried her face in his spicy-familiar scent.

“I don’t know what to do, Szad. I dunno how to fix it, I dunno how to make it stop, I just—“ The brown rumbled, reassurance she could feel down in her bones, and she pulled in a shuddering breath.

<< Whatever you want. We’ll do it together. We’re the best, together. >>

Another voice echoed in her head, hushed and feminine: memories of her sister, complete newborn clutched to her chest. He’s your family, and he’ll always love his awesome Aunt Taikrin and her adventures. You’ll be around to take him, right?

Szadath rustled through her head, brushing up against the walls she’d erected with uncharacteristic gentleness. It was he that sifted through her mind, seeking carefully amongst her most treasured memories.

And one held precious above all others, softer and more delicate, maybe, but with hidden strength. Do something about it. Take the step. Let me help you. She lay still, letting herself, for once, just be. Memories of sweetness filling her head, the feel of Szadath’s bulk, warm beneath her cheek. Everything seemed to be balanced on a knife-thin edge. She could feel herself teetering over the brink; on one side loomed everything she’d locked away behind a wall of fear and alcohol, all the terrible things she’d done and continued to do. On the other was Szadath, his steadfast love wrapping around her and through her, the thickest of the ties that bound her to those she held closest.

For one brief, shining moment, it was all clear. What she had to do. What she needed. What they both needed. Neither spoke as Taikrin pulled herself up the brown’s straps, clipping herself in even as she allowed herself to sink further within him. As one they moved towards the ledge, and it was just before he unfurled his wings that she let the barriers drop – quick, like lancing an infection.

She laid herself bare to him, and in return he simply, silently, wrapped his mind around hers. No need for digging, for prying, for examining the hidden thoughts that stained her mind. There was only them, together, pushing their wings to the limit as they raced the wind up and out. They didn’t have a destination in mind – didn’t need one. All they needed was this: two minds, wrapped up in each other as they hadn’t been since the first months following impression, driving themselves on for nothing but the sheer joy of feeling their young, strong bodies defying gravity with every wingbeat.

They were together. They were free.

It was hours before they got back, both feeling strangely loose and empty behind the bone-deep exhaustion. Taikrin still felt numb, still felt that knife-edge balance, but it was a sort of balance. It was more than she’d had for nearly as long as she could remember, and she was doing her best to hang on to that feeling, to cling to it as ward against the gentle pull exerted by the Snowasis. As she dragged herself through the nighthearth on her way towards the baths, it was just luck that she happened to be twisting in just the right way to catch sight of the note.

''Treasure maps? Search? I wonder if it involves a lot of flying straight…''

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Logs:Bring On the Hunt!

2013-02-07T08:48:36Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin | where = High Reaches Weyr | what = Vignette. Taikrin draws the short straw and ends up leading a group; it's time for the Great Treasure Hunt of Turn ..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vignette. Taikrin draws the short straw and ends up leading a group; it's time for the Great Treasure Hunt of Turn 25! Bring on the gold and jewels!!
| when = Day 10, Month 10, Turn 25 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.05.17
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = Exile
| mentions = V'teri, Lujayn
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_punch.jpg
| log =

Taikrin was pretty heavily invested in giving the impression that she was only here for V'teri's benefit-- just here to humor the bronzerider and his wacky ideas, really. As she waited her turn to draw a straw, feigning boredom all the while, her mind worked in a furious back-and-forth with Szadath.

<< Real treasure, huh? Think it's real? >>

Won't know 'till we look, eh Szad? 'Least it's something to do.

<< Yeah. Hours of flying, hard as we can, wingmates on our flanks. >> The brown was clearly enthused for the plan, his voice thunderous with anticipation.

What if we're not leading? What if we end up following Lujayn? She could take all the treasure, and I bet Iskiveth'd have a /fit/! Taikrin teased, allowing a corner of her lip to twitch as she reached out to draw a straw.

<< No. We're going to win. We always win. We're the best. This treasure is going to be OURS. >> The brown's confidence seemed to guide Taikrin's hand, because when she looked at what she'd drawn, it was clearly shorter than the rest. << We deserve it. >>

"Huh."

A gleam of avarice sparked in Taikrin's dark gaze as she looked up to stare at V'teri, her expression hardening into determination once more.

"Yes. We do."

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Logs:Liquoring Up the Exiles

2013-02-07T08:44:03Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin, Raum, Rhaelyn | where = The Snowasis, HRW | what = Taikrin accidentally invites half the exile population out to the Snowasis. At least they don't seem..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Raum, Rhaelyn
| where = The Snowasis, HRW
| what = Taikrin accidentally invites half the exile population out to the Snowasis. At least they don't seem disposed to drink a whole lot of her booze-- except for Raum, that is.
| when = Day 16, Month 13, Turn 25 of Interval 10.
| gamedate = 2011.06.15
| quote = They won't like you so much come morning.
| weather =
| categories = Exiles
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_lolwhut.jpg, rhaelyn.jpg
| log =

Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr(#555RJ)
The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

---

It began simply enough: Taikrin was in the candidate barracks, chatting up one of the prettier exile girls. The girl herself was oblivious to the point, because an invitation to 'show her around the Snowasis' somehow morphed into an invitation to 'show the exiles around the Snowasis'. So while Taikrin sits, in growing horror, rather more exiles than just the single invited girl have been trickling into the bar. She's making the best of it, though, offering around whiskey and beer (the cheap stuff, no doubt) to the scattered tables.

Rhaelyn comes in with the most recent group of exiles. She's with a fish-faced girl and two others who are gaping around at the gathering of people within. "I told you, everyone was going to be here." Rhae's voice is quiet and she gives fish-face a push forward and sneaks a look left and right, waving to other exiles who are already settled in.

Raum, at least, looks quite at home in the bar, with a mug of beer in hand as he circulates through the tables himself. He doesn't seem inclined to linger with any particular group of exiles, no more than they seem inclined to invite him to stay; but when he sees Taikrin he steps her way and lifts his mug in a mock toast. "Awful nice of you to treat us to a night out," he remarks.

An observant person will note the tight lines around Taikrin's lips and how beyond normally pale she's gotten. Nevertheless, she offers something resembling a smile to Raum. "That's me, love to see people havin' a good time. Figured none of their lot knows how to appreciate a good whiskey, like." The glass of brown liquid is raised in salute to the exile. "And-- oi. Shells." She's noted Rhaelyn's group's entrance with a poorly-muffled curse. Nevertheless, she calls, "C'mon in, girls! Have a drink!"

Rhaelyn reaches out to touch one of the girl's arms as they moon-eye around the place. The other girls give Raum a trio of sour looks as they pass him, but Rhae has a smile for him, "Not off and away to your home?" She asks, but not expecting him to answer her, she continues to guide the sheep towards Taikrin. "I hear you have some interesting things to sample." And who knows what else might happen.

"Not allowed. Not interested," Raum throws out two causes carelessly, with a lift of his shoulders for Rhaelyn's words as they pass by. He is, at least, immune to ugly looks: the man's had long years to practice that, for sure. To Taikrin, "You think this lot'll be appreciating them in the morning? Do you at least get a discount for bringing them all this business?"

"Ehhh, we worked out a deal," Taikrin asides to Raum, with a pointed look towards the bartender. "Sorta." Clearly it's still not taking away /all/ the pain. But for Rhaelyn? She'll put some effort into that smile. "Sure do! Got some whiskey, an' a coupl'a different brews, too. Whiskey's this'n here." The glass is wiggled in Rhaelyn's direction. "Wanna try?"

The other girls make faces at Raum until it's clear he's ignoring them. Rhae rolls her eyes towards them and looks across to Raum, "Why wouldn't you want to go back? Even some of our folks want to go back to that rock becuase it's 'home'." Not the smart ones obviously. Coming closer she has to leave the protective ring of the other girls, "I'll give it a try." Asking Raum, "Do you like the Whiskey?"

Raum glances sideways to the bartender himself, just for a moment, and gives him a nod. His beer's set on the table for the time being, and he tells Taikrin, "Haven't had any myself yet, either. But I am fond of whiskey, in general; can't imagine your northern type to be any worse." A beat, and he cuts a look at Rhaelyn again. "Don't want to leave all my friends," he drawls, with a smirk.

"Little sip," Taikrin advises Rhaelyn, miming raising a glass to her lips as she does so. "Strong stuff, but you gotta give it a chance, see, a'fore you decide if you like it." Her crooked smile is almost... charming. "Our stuff tends towards strong, on account of how cold it is? Good stuff, though, this. Smooth, but with a little kick. Ain't quite firebreathin'; but we got some'll have you flamin' Thread like a dragon, though."

Rhaelyn draws one of the girls over, "Mara, you have your sip first." She's going to watch for the expression and response before she gives it a try. Mara, the poor girl, blushes as she's drawn up closer to Taikrin and takes the glass. Meanwhile Rhae pretends not to be watching, she's blowing a little kiss at Raum, "I didn't know that you cared. Thought you'd be glad to untangle yourself from us." One of the other girls chirps up, "A drink can make you breath fire?!" And there's laughter from the other, so far silent girl. Mara chokes and croaks on the too-big sip she tried of the whiskey making Rhae frown, "Oh, poor Mara."

"Funny, I'd say the same about Igen's, for how hot it is," notes Raum, shoulders lifting. "You ever been down that way? --You don't think I'd ditch you /that/ fast, now do you? After all you've done for me?"

Taikrin can't help but smirk at Mara's first sip of whiskey, stifling a laugh only with effort. "Hey, easy with that, now. Little girls like y'all ain't known for bein' able to hold it in. Go ahead, go ahead." She gestures for them to pass the drink around, then turns to Raum. "Wouldn'a thought. Ain't spent much time there; had to learn the images, so's we've been over the Weyr-- ain't done much else, though. Shardin' hot! We ain't made for that, me an' Szad."

Mara turns a bit green and makes a run for the door. Rhaelyn can't help but smirk, "I'll be right back." She's going after the girl to 'help', or to taunt, hard to say really.

When Rhaelyn's little friends pull her off to find something more to their girlish tastes, Raum is free to claim his own whiskey left behind and take a long swig of it himself. It doesn't seem to bother him nearly like it did them. "There's a bar--well, a couple of them, at Igen Hold you might like. The main one's like this, pretty much, but there's another one, not so well known, that's a little more... Well." Smirk.

"Oh?" Taikrin only lets disappointment linger for a moment when the girls move away; the look she directs after them is faintly predatory. "Reckon maybe I oughta go an' explore. It got some good... flavor?" She gestures towards the bar for another drink, since Raum seems to have appropriated the girls'. "Know a couple 'round here, but-- reckon they all know me, too."

"That's one way to put it," agrees Raum. "Used to get in fights there all the time, when I was younger. Then I joined the guards, and I'd--go get in fights there all the time, only without having to worry about getting locked afterward." The thought makes him smirk, and he finishes off that whiskey in no time. "Don't reckon I'd be a welcome face back there now, though."

At the word 'guard', Taikrin goes still and her smile grows fixed. "Guard, eh? Hold-work or, uh... more supervisory?" She tries to play it casual, glancing over her shoulder to pluck a whiskey off the tray of a passing waiter. "Why's that, anyhow? 'Cause you ditched 'em for bein' a sailor? That's what y'said, ain't it?"

"Bit of everything, really," says Raum, lifting his brows as he gives Taikrin his most innocent look. It's not very, to be honest. "Started out at the bottom, breaking up fights and watching the drunks sleep it off. Ended up, captain of the Lord's guard. Why, that a problem?"

Taikrin hides behind a long swig of whiskey; by the time she lowers the glass from her face, she's regained her composure. "'Course it ain't," she breezes. "Just wonderin' what it was y'did. Guards can get a reputation, y'know? Reckon you're the right sort, if y'got a good appreciation for whiskey an' a throwdown." Just Taikrin's sort of guard, at least. "Captain of the Lord's guard, though. Sounds like a thing."

Raum shrugs. "Don't know how it is, up here--Weyrleader says there ain't no guards, at least at the Weyr," he admits, toying with the empty glass. "Down there, seemed like often as not, the guards were just criminals with the Lord's seal. The young ones, especially. Not a lot of old ones, though--if you don't know what you're doing, you end up with too many enemies."

"'Course we ain't got no guards, we got dragons! Who would'a ever heard of a guard at a Weyr? That's just crazy talk." Taikrin waves a hand dismissively at the very /idea/ of the Weyr playing host to guards. As if! "That so? Didn't know Igen was-- like that. Must be a hard place t'live. We're all friends, up here." Taikrin grins, too-broadly, as if there's an inside joke she's sharing, if only Raum picks up on it.

Raum, his mouth twisting into another wry smirk, will drink to that. So he does. "You see why a man'd want to find friendlier ground, then," he remarks, glancing sideways at Taikrin. "Course, the way people in Igen talked about the Reaches, I'm surprised to hear it. And what I've heard here, too--convicts and raiders and things like that. Can't say I really understood it all, though?"

"Eh, people tell stories, I reckon. Like how they say they're all lazy sots in Igen, and gamblers and whores in Ista, and-- well. You know. We're just folk, same as any other." But Taikrin's smile still tells of that inside joke. "Don't know as how there's anything to understand."

"Do they say that?" Raum seems surprised, the way his brows go up, but he lets it slide. Instead, "I suppose you are, same as all these people." A nod takes in the exiles, happily at their drinking--at least until the hangovers begin. "Should like to make a few new friends, though, while I'm here. S'been a while, as you might gather."

"Some of us maybe a little more privileged, like--" Taikrin gestures with her glass at the nearest set of exiles. "Reckon I ought to go make some friends, seein' as how they're all drinkin' my booze." Thank goodness for low alcohol tolerances! "Reckon you might be able t'make a few friends 'round these parts -- always lookin' to make friends with the right attitude."

"Make 'em while you can," advises Raum as he straightens and steps away. "They won't like you so much come morning. Be seeing you." And he's off then, abandoning the party entirely for the caverns further in.

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Logs:Making Teenagers Blush

2013-02-07T08:37:39Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Lina, Raum, Beven, Rhaelyn | where = Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr | what = Lina's dinner is interrupted by teenagers. And then by Raum. And then by teenager-..."

{{ Log
| who = Lina, Raum, Beven, Rhaelyn
| where = Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Lina's dinner is interrupted by teenagers. And then by Raum. And then by teenager-baiting /with/ Raum.
| when = Day 2, Month 2, Turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.06.29
| quote = Why bother with apologies when you can just hit 'em?
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = lina.jpg, rhaelyn.jpg, raum.jpg
| log =

Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr

With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.

----

Beven heads in from the inner caverns.
Beven has arrived.

Raum heads in from the inner caverns.
Raum has arrived.

While the dinner crowds are filling up the main caverns, some few have opted instead for the quiet atmosphere and tasty stew that only the night hearth can provide. Lina is one such, curled up in a chair with a bowl of stew perched precariously on one knee and a drawing pad propped against the arm.

Beven comes into the nighthearth, yawning just a bit as he moves over to get a bowl of stew and a mug of klah. He's not paying much attention to what and who is around him, aside from finding a seat in a comfortable chair.

"It's not very thick tonight," Lina notes quietly, with only a sneaking glance up towards Beven. "Not the best night's dinner I've had; someone should really go complain at the kitchens..." Not that the greenrider seems inclined to do that any time soon.

The crowds aren't for Raum, either, as he heads down to the more secluded cavern to get his dinner there. Falling in line just behind Beven, he slides a glance over at Lina for her words of warning, then stirs the stew a bit to test it. However thin it is, he just shrugs and fills a bowl, noting, "Least there's no fish in it."

Beven blinks just a bit and he ahhs, "Well when you're my age, food is food as long as it's edible." he says with a faint grin as he looks over at Lina and nods a greeting, "I've had worse, so I'm sure it'll be fine."

"That there's not," Lina scknowledges with a hint of a playful smile. "Not certain I can pick out what /any/ of that stuff is, honestly. I think it's meat, but-- maybe it's a fancy new sort of tuber? I don't think it'll kill us, though; I made sure I saw one of the weyrbrats finish his bowl before I took mine."

"I'm not going to be picky now," Raum says, though he does eye what his spoon turns up with mild interest. Bowl filled, though, he sets off to a seat, sprawling in one of the chairs by Lina and stretching his legs out stiffly. "You normally have people keel over after eating here, then?"

Beven hms a bit and he shrugs his shoulders, "Maybe fingerroots?" he comments, head tilting a bit to observe his bowl of stew, stirring it a bit to try and identify what kind of stuff has gone into it's making, "More of a soup than a stew, possibly?" he comments as he frowns slightly in concentration.

"It's been known to happen, from time to time," Lina retorts playfully. "You must be new here, if you haven't experienced the famous Winter Stew of Doom. Watery and strange and probably a few days old."

"Been here, oh... couple months, maybe?" Raum has to think about it a moment before lifting his shoulders; it's not that important. "Raum, of Igen," he instead introduces himself. "Can't say as I was ever really familiar with winter, before now."

Beven laughs a bit, "I'm 16, food is food." He says with a wink as he finally starts working on eating his meal as his stomach growls loudly. "So long as it's not going to kill me, and it's not so nasty I want to die from eating it, and it's filling, then it's good food." Not to mention the fact he's still growing at his age, he needs food to fuel that growth, so he'll eat just about anything at this point.

"Couple of months?" Lina tilts her head speculatively, but she seems to accept Raum's explanation at face-value. "I'm sure you get all sorts of strange things in Igen - sand rats, and all?" To Beven, she teases, "Poor boy, it must be hard being a bottomless void. Good thing you're in the Weyr, hm? We know how to grow a young lad up proper."

Beven laughs and he nods as he pats his tummy with the hand not holding his bowl, "Oh so hard trying to find enough to fill said void." he says with a teasing twinkle in his eyes as he relaxes back and then goes back to eating, nodding to Raum finally, "I'm Beven, Apprentice Beastcrafter here at the weyr."

Raum, with a glance sidways at Beven, lifts his brows. "Lot of ifs, there," he notes. "I imagine there's some that would be happy for any one of those--hell, there's been days I would have been." For his part, he eats without really savoring it; it's good enough and that will do. To Lina, "Sand rats are hardly even a start of it, really."

Lina lets out a laugh to match Beven, though it's still got a teasing note to it. "Surely a clever apprentice knows to make friends with the right girl in the kitchens, right Beastcraft Apprentice Beven?" She, quite notably, doesn't offer her name in return. "I'm sure our large friend here knows all about making friends in the right places?" Green eyes, shaded by long lashes, slant playfully at Raum.

Beven chuckles a bit more and he winks, "Of course I have, Sibella's very nive, she tends to bring food out to the complex each night, so that there's always food to be found at night when I get peckish." He says with another bright grin.

"Do I?" Raum lifts his brows, expression thoughtful for a moment as his blue eyes settle on Lina. "I suppose I do. It's what brought me here, after all. Though I can't say I've had as much luck charming the local population as our young friend here seems to." He nods toward Beven, though he's mostly eyeing the rider still.

"Oh, you've got that look to you, sir Igen." Lina uncurls from her chair with some difficulty, setting empty soup bowl and drawing pad aside so she can lift her bad leg with difficulty down to the ground. "Sibella, mm? Her name seems familiar. I'm glad you're well-fed. Nothing sadder than a hungry teenager; unless it's a hungry weyrling, I suppose."

Beven laughs a bit and he grins, "I wouldn't know, never been a weyrling, and haven't spent much time around the weyrlings when I was younger due to having to learn my own lessons." he says with another wink.

"Can't say as I know much of weyrlings myself. Spent all my life at the hold until the last half-turn," Raum notes with a glance at Beven. He finishes his dinner and, like Lina, set aside on the floor. "But from what I recall of being a teenager--and mind, this was turns and turns ago now, might have all changed in the meantime--but I was always hungry for something or other. But maybe that's just me." Another glance at Lina; he watches her stiffness in unfolding with some interest.

"I don't think I ate more than two bites at a meal-- but then, I had a figure to keep. Life is hard when you're a teenage girl." Lina eases her leg out, idly working it in a stretch that doesn't seem to affect her grin in the least. "I'd think I'd know if you were a weyrling, my dear Beastcraft Apprentice. At least, I would hope I would've noticed!"

Beven grins a bit and he nods, "Well one would hope you would have noticed my lady." he teases a bit, despite a very slight hint of a blush, he's not quite so assured that he's used to taking part in the teasing tones at this point. "I work too hard as an apprentice to worry about having a figure, or is it more muscle when you're a guy?" he says before shrugging and finishing off the few bites of his stew that remain.

"I should hope muscle," Raum agrees. "Though vanity isn't nearly so becoming in a man as in a lovely lady." He dips his head toward Lina briefly, his mouth curving up in a faint smirk. "So you're the weyrlings' master? When there are weyrlings, I take it."

"Assistant, yes," Lina relents. "Lina, green Aryeth's, at your service, my lord Igen; I don't think I caught your name?" To Beven, in an aside, "Young men shouldn't worry about their figures, that seems to happen naturally."

Rhaelyn heads in from the inner caverns.
Rhaelyn has arrived.

Beven chuckles a bit and he grins some more, shrugging his shoulders, "My only worry is if I am going to outgrow the legs of my breeches any time soon." he says with a wink again as he settles deeper into his seat for the time being, utterly relaxed.

"Raum," the outsider supplies then. "Lord Igen seems--a little excessive; I was only captain of his guard, after all. --I expect you're looking forward to having another clutch, then? It must get boring with so long between them these days; I wouldn't know what to do with myself in the meantime."

A cold wind brings Rhae into the night hearth, all bundled up in a jacket and a thick woolden cape over that along with a plush fur hat that seems to match. She's getting the fashion thing down, but it's obvious by her color choices that she's going for extreme in her picks of the hand-me-downs allowed to her. With a shimmy to her step she crosses the room, all smiles and a wave here and there at familiar faces, "Hi Raum." from that tone, it might be assumed they are best buddies.

"Oh, only /captain/, I see; but yes, it /has/ been quiet. Iskiveth's have been out of the nest for, Faranth, more than a turn?" Lina, stretching done, reclines back into her chair in an artfully casual slouch. "Raum, then. Well met. And-- who's your friend, here? Aren't you a little young for him, little one?"

Beven hms a bit and he looks around before grinning at Lina, "Beven, ma'am." he says as he stays relaxed in his chair, sipping at his klah now as he remains seated, almost looking sleepy as he watches Lina and Raum.

The greeting earns a lift of Raum's brows, as he tracks Rhaelyn's progress for a moment before cutting his eyes back to Lina. "My friend. Lina, Rhaelyn; Rhaelyn, Lina. One of the Weyr's weyrlingmasters," he elaborates on the greenrider, at least. "Are we friends now? I hadn't realized." The latter to the other exile.

Rhaelyn draws her hat off and gives her glossy hair a shake with the help of long fingers drawing through the smooth silk length. "Oh, maybe he likes um young." The smile is coy and playful as she crosses closer. Beven in his relaxed pose gets a curious look as she draws closer but after a little finger-wriggling wave, her attention flitters backk to Raum and Lina, "Hello. Hello. Weyrlingmaster." The way the word is pitched--she doesn't know what the heck that is. Not being one to let such things stop her, "Should we not be friends?"

Lina looks from Rhaelyn to Raum, one elegant eyebrow raising at their interplay. She half-stifles an amused smile, and turns instead to Beven, "See? Apprentice Beastcrafter Beven, here we have a young girl who probably knows her way around the kitchens; most girls do, I find. Better to attract the strapping young lads."

Beven chuckles a bit and he nods, "Sibella is not too much older than me, I don't think. She even offered to cuddle with me." he says with a grin and a shrug of his shoulders, "Though I'm sure my da would probably have a fit if I accepted, not to mention Journeyman Nathin would probably not be too happy if he caught me cuddling with a girl."

"He like it better if you cuddle with boys?" Raum wonders, peering then at Beven. "Because it always seemed to me that if you try to stop a man from his natural urges--well. That's what you end up with." He shrugs, though, like it's not really any of his concern; which, it probably isn't. "I'm sure Rhaelyn would cuddle, though; she seems like that kind of girl."

Rhaelyn giggles softly, "Oh, weyrlingmaster Lina!" The smile she flashes has a frozen edge as it flickers through dark lashes. That look weighs and measures Beven for worth in a blink. "I don't -cuddle-." She draws the woolden cape from around her shoulders and drapes it gracefully behind her on the chair and then works on getting the jacket off. "Really? I seem like a cuddler? Disgusting."

Beven blinks a bit at Raum and he frowns slightly, shaking his head a little bit, "That was a bit rude, don't you think?" he says as he looks at Raum and then looks over at Rhaelyn briefly before looking back at Lina uncertainly for a moment.

"Sibella offered that, did she? Well, maybe only one girl at a time then, eh Apprentice Beven?" Lina winks at the young crafter, as if sharing a particularly amusing joke. "But that's a smart girl; cuddling is for fuzzy animals, firelizards, and your lifemate. And /that/ only holds if your lifemate is blue. Or maybe brown."

"Was it?" Raum doesn't seem to think so, looking between his three companions for a moment before he shrugs it off. "It's a Weyr, boy; I expect you've heard worse, and if you haven't, all the more reason to." A beat; then, he eyes Lina. "And if yours is green?"

"What was rude? That you might want to cuddle up on boys?" Rhaelyn asks, curious but pinning Beven with an intense look, "Or that he's trying to hook you up with a complete stranger? I'm Rhaelyn by the way. What is your job here?" With the same direct interest.

"Well then," Lina drawls to Raum, one eyebrow arching as her smile grows into a smirk. "I suppose the /boys/ might cuddle with their greens; Aryeth and I like to /share/, but cuddling? Not our thing." She cuts her gaze deliberately towards Rhaelyn and Beven, then wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at Raum.

Beven shakes his head a bit, "Just because we are in a weyr, doesn't excuse rudeness towards one another." he says in a quiet tone before looking at Rhaelyn, "Making comments about you in such a way. As for what he said about me, he doesn't know me, so I guess it was rather rude as well. There's never a good reason to be rude to someone, but that's my da's teaching in any case." he says as he nods to Rhaelyn, "As I said, I'm Beven, apprentice beastcrafter here at the weyr."

Raum, rude though he may be, doesn't seem too concerned with it; he leaves the younger couple to their introductions while he focuses more on Lina, his own mouth curving up into more of a smirk. "No? And here I thought all girls like that. Maybe Weyr-girls are different--I won't complain."

Rhaelyn hms and looks at Ruam, "Well, you see that. You are being downright rude to me. You should appologize right away." She slides a look over at Beven and asks, "What is the proper way for such an appology?" No matter that Raum is not going to pay her any mind, the dark-haired girl doesn't appear to care one way or another. "You know, better to have thicker skin I say. Best to let people speak their mind. Yes?"

"Oh, to be a teenager again," Lina sighs melodramatically. "Were you that touchy? Faranth knows, I was probably worse. Then again, I had Aryeth by the time I was their age, so-- " The greenrider shrugs, as if the thought isn't worth finishing. "You'll find weyrbred girls over a certain age are-- a breed apart. "

Beven chuckles a bit and he nods a bit before standing up with a yawn, "I'd best head back to the complex, I have an early day tomorrow, nice to meet everyone." He says before heading off for the evening.

Beven heads to the inner caverns.
Beven has left.

When Beven leaves, Raum seems to realize the hour; and he, too, stands, stretching idly. "Me? Touchier, in a way, I suppose--why bother with apologies when you can just hit 'em? Especially once you're a guard and all your buddies will back you up." It's a nice memory, apparently, at least judging by his amused expression. "I should see about finding my way home again, though, if I can."

As everyone gathers and begins to leave, Lina reluctantly follows suit; gritted teeth behind her smile give some depth to her difficulty as she awkwardly levers most of her weight onto a single leg. "Teenagers, hm? Life /was/ simpler, wasn't it?" A pause. "Where are you staying, Raum of Igen?"

"Not at the time," Raum notes with a shrug. He's watching closely as she levers herself up, though thoughtfully or not thoughtfully, he doesn't offer any help. "For now? I managed to get myself a private room; sometimes it's handy, being old. Admittedly, it's a pretty shitty little cupboard, not like my suite at Igen, but. One makes do."

"I can't say my weyr is much better, but-- I prefer it that way, honestly." Lina bends down to retrieve the cane resting against the chair, then leans heavily on it with a low sigh. "Private room is better than most get, though, without a weyrmate or a family?"

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Logs:Screw You, Dragon Dad

2013-02-07T08:23:28Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = K'del, Taikrin, Iovniath, Cadejoth, Szadath
| where = K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin's in trouuuuble.
| when = Day 23, Month 2, Turn 26
| gamedate = 2011.07.06
| quote = "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---"
| weather =
| categories = Exiles
| mentions = Riorde
| icons = k'del_serious.jpg, taikrin_rage.jpg
| log = /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:

Dragon> To Iovniath, Szadath grumbles and complains and moans. << Cadejoth is the worst dragon-dad, he's interfering with our girlfriends. >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Iovniath, curious, << Plural? >>

Dragon> 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.

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? >>

Dragon> 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)

Dragon> 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? >> >>

Dragon> 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. >>

Dragon> 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!

Dragon> 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)

Dragon> 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)

Dragon> 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.

Dragon> 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)

Dragon> 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)

Dragon> 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.

Dragon> 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? >>

Dragon> 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. >>

Dragon> 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. >>

Dragon> 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.

Dragon> 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.

Dragon> 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. >>

Dragon> 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. >>

Dragon> 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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Logs:Post-Party Relaxing

2013-02-07T08:19:34Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Lina, Evali, Nathalia
| where = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
| what = After the party, Lina sneaks into the caverns to scavenge a little dinner, and enlightens Nathalia and Evali about clutches past and present.
| when = Late, Day 26, Month 2, Turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.07
| quote = I suppose High Reaches' dragons could just be abnormally fertile.
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = lina.jpg, evali.jpg
| log =

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.

Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

----

It had been a wild party, certainly not what the new smithcrafter had been expecting. Somewhere along the line the party had died and Nathalia had lost her guide to the Crafting Complex in the process. Rather than find herself horribly lost she had opted for a seat at the table where the drinks had been. "a shelling map would have been nice." She mutters sipping on a mug of klah.

Late-come to the party, Lina missed all the excitement -- much to the greenrider's chagrin. She's still managed to scrounge some food, which she brings over with something of a hobble to the nearest table - Nathalia's table. She gingerly lowers herself into a chair, stretching her bad leg out before her with a sigh, and remarks, "Some night, hm? Fourteen eggs-- can you believe it?"
Nathalia glances up at the woman as she settles into a chair. "Hardly, and a fourth queen to boot." She took a long sip from her mug. "I don't think I have ever seen so much excitement back at the Craft Hall." She studied the woman with a tired smile. "I am Nathalia, formerly of the Smith Hall until today."

"A fourth queen indeed." It's hard to tell if Lina looks pleased at the news, or merely overwhelmed. "Well met, Nathalia. I'm Lina-- Aryeth's. I'm on Meara's weyrlingmaster staff." The greenrider looks equally tired, and she raises her fork in mock-salute. "Dragonriders are prone to excitement, didn't you know? Are you newly-posted?"

"Well met Lina, sounds like your going to have your hands full this turn." The girl responded. She's worried about the odd number of queen's as well but doesn't voice it. Nat can't help but snort a laugh. "I was born in igen, but I spent most my life in the hall, so this was my first /real/ weyrfolk experience." She grinned. "Happy to report that I survived." Another sip of klah before she speaks again. "Yes, Just arrived today actually. The Smithing Master Crafter thought that this might be a better learning environment for me, and I think im beginning to understand why." She looks at the woman again, a smile on her lips. "What about you? How long have you been a rider?"

"Smith? An actual smith-- not studying star or jewelry or one of the subsets?" Lina looks a bit impressed at this, studying Nathalia over her fork as she indulges in a couple of bites. "Well, welcome to High Reaches; I hope you find it suites. I haven't been here more than a couple of turns, myself, but-- they're good people here. They mean well. I impressed Aryeth, what-- Faranth, nearly ten turns ago? At Benden."

Nathalia chuckles at the question. "You sound like the other apprentices back at the craft hall. I followed my father into the Smith Craft proper." The girl sips some more on her Klah as she listens. "Twenty years." It's Nat's turn to be impressed. "A long time to be in such a dangerous line of work, I have heard good things about Benden, their wines in particular." She smiled at the welcome. "To be honest the weather is terrible, and the people are . . . colorful. It is growing on me a little though."

"It's not a usual occupation for a girl, though I suppose-- you said you were weyrbred? That might explain it," Lina teases over another bite of dinner. "It seems like only yesterday-- hard to imagine twenty turns have gone by. Then again, it's hard to remember life before I had Aryeth, so--" With difficulty, the greenrider shifts to rest her bad leg atop her good one. "Colorful does about describe High Reaches; I think they compensate for the weather. Dangerous?" She seems to have missed that part, until a nudge from elsewhere brings it to the fore. "Whatever do you mean?"

Evali heads in from the inner caverns.
Evali has arrived.

"I was born at Igen, but I am a craft hall brat through and through. I was only a few month's old when my father and I left." She sighed. "I suppose its more of a papa's daughter kind of thing, I remember watching him work at the forge sometimes. The way the sparks flew up from the metal the sooty smell, I loved all of it. The Nurses always said I was more boy than girl anyway." She laughs. "well when thread falls you are the ones who fight it, not to mention the dangers of drills and there are accidents. True were at an interveral but still, I think it takes a lot of guts to become a rider. Am I wrong?"

"We have fought thread," Lina admits ruefully, with none of the bluster that most riders would admit. "During the Comet Pass, Aryeth and I flew with the Benden wings. It was-- well, we're glad it's over. I can't imagine fifty turns of that." An elegant shudder runs through the weyrlingmaster, which she banishes with a forceful smile and subject change. "But anyways-- talk like that has no place on a special day like today. So, Nathalia of the Smithcraft Hall, have you been to see the eggs yet?"

It's after the bulk of the party has died off; there are still people here and there enjoying last-minute drinks and polishing off the food, but the crowds are quite thin. Lina and Nathalia are at an otherwise empty table, where the greenrider is doing her best to catch up on a late dinner.

It isn't until the party /ends/ that Evali has the nerve to come out and see what all the fuss is about. Crowds are far beyond her; she moves hesitantly through the people who are left behind, and tentatively gets herself a glass of merely water. Her hair is down and shrouding her face, and she's got a fluffy winter hat on as well -- despite being indoors. The seat she picks is uncomfortably close to Nathalia and Lina for her own comfort, but then again, theirs is a conversation she can merely eavesdrop on instead of being forced to actually /participate/, and it counts as 'mingling.'

Nat frowned, sorry that she had brought up a sensitive topic. She laughed at mention of the eggs. "Yeah a caught a glance while trying to find my room a little while ago. This place is a lot more difficult to navigate than I thought it would be. First clutch I ever laid eyes on, and quite an interesting assortment." She glances up as another sits at the table. She offers a friendly smile "Hello"

"The Weyr /is/ big, no doubt about that. I'm sure it doesn't help that they're keeping all you crafters so far away from the rest of the caverns, mmm? So long as Iovniath is feeling relaxed, you're free to stop by at any time to watch them. I'm sure betting will start soon, on the thirteen eggs that aren't quite so obvious." Lina glances over at Evali, smiles curiously, then asks, "Any early thoughts? Either of you? I haven't been down to look, myself."

"I -- haven't seen." Evali only doesn't seem unsurprised to be spoken to because Evali's countenance is usually rather like a sheet of thin rock: steady and unmoving. "Yet. I intend to -- I hear there is a gold one?" She tilts her head a little, curiously, at the others. The people who may really know anything at all. "And that that doesn't always happen? Is it a good thing or a bad thing, because I have heard both and --" Tiny, awkward shrug.

Nathalia thought a moment about the eggs, about their shapes and colors, and what might be contained in them. "Do you mean as to the colors or what will come out of which egg?" she asked. "I would put marks on it that there's at least one Bronze, but as for the rest. . . If I had to guess I would say probably about three or four greens, Three to four blues, possibly more than one bronze, and a few that won't hatch."

"There's definitely a gold one; Aryeth heard that much. That leaves thirteen eggs up for grabs." At Evali's hesitation, Lina clarifies, "It's a Weyr tradition to bet on which eggs are going to hatch what color hatchling. When we've got candidate, the betting will include them too." The weyrlingmaster lets out a helpless laugh at Nathalia's estimates, waving her fork for emphasis. "Well of course there'll likely be one bronze. Probably a few more greens, though-- it's hard to say, Cadejoth does tend to throw more males than most. I'm sure they'll all hatch, though." She has a sharp look for Nathalia at that, and her voice is firm on this point. "Iovniath is known for being a good mother."

Evali sits up a little straighter, at the mention of them not hatching. "I didn't know that happened," she says, sounding even /more/ distant now. "The same way it does with humans. I have had many deliveries die and yet more always live. Being a good mother isn't -- it doesn't matter, with people, but I suppose with eggs --" She is so, so out of her depth.

Nat shrugged. "I didn't mean any offense by it, I am sure Iovniath is probably the picture of mother hood. I was going more off the weather and what I have heard other Weyr's hatchings to be. Then again, four queens. . . . I suppose High Reaches' dragons could just be abnormally fertile." She glanced at the thinner girl as she spoke. "No being a good mother doesn't seem to matter with people at all, not when you can just hand off a child to someone else." There's a bitter note there. "It's harder to tell with eggs." She averted the train of thought she'd been on. She glanced over at Lina. "That's right you guys will be even more crowded once search starts. Especially with the candidate barracks being occupied."

"Sometimes it happens to even the best of golds," Lina admits, somewhat reluctantly. "But it's more likely to happen with inexperienced mothers, or if there was a poor flight. As neither apply--" She sets her fork down with a clatter, pushing her still half-full plate away. "-- we'll just have to see. I'm sure the Weyrleaders have the issue with the barracks and the islanders well in-hand. They'll just have to move over to one side so we can bring in our candidates; it's not likely there'll be more than thirty, in any case. And there's time yet, and no reason the weyrbred ones can't stay living where they are."

/More/ people. This time, Evali visibly frowns. It is a rare expression on her, but it's definitely there. "Of course," she says with a tiny sigh -- also unusual, actually speaking aloud to strangers! "Is fourteen a lot or a small number?"

Nathalia nodded. "Then I guess I will amend my previous estimate to two Bronzes, three browns four blues and the rest greens." She considered Lina's words. "I imagine some of the islanders might be eligible to stand as well. From what I have seen of the Weyr women of this place though, I agree that they undoubtedly have the situation under control." She smiled at Evali's question. "Fourteen's actually pretty large for a clutch during an interveral. Though I think someone told me it wasn't as large as the last clutch? Or maybe I misheard them in all the noise."

"It's not so small for an interval; having four queens, when they're all young and healthy /is/ unusual. But not unheard-of. It's comforting, given how recently High Reaches only had one." But as much as Lina would like to stay, she braces herself against the table and reluctantly pushes to her feet.

"Thirteen in the last clutch, and twenty in the one before that," she offers, offhand, in between puffs of breath as she gets her cane underneath her. "I'd best go take a look at them now, before Aryeth twists herself in a knot with impatience. A please, Nathalia. And--?" she looks expectantly at Evali.
Cautiously, more than distantly this time, "Evali." She gives the weyrlingmaster a tiny hint of a smile. "I met the one. Rielsath. I liked her." She says nothing, otherwise; she is merely taking in what's around her. And as her water is gone, she, too, brings herself to her feet. "I should also -- get back -- to my brother."

"Nice meeting you both then," Nat answers.

"Lina," the weyrlingmaster offers, though her hands are a bit full to offer one to shake. "Aryeth's. A pleasure. If you'll excuse me--?"

"Certainly, of course," Evali replies politely, even if it wasn't addressed at her; she is going to return her glass, now, though she moves slowly, until those she was speaking to no longer have their eyes on her.

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Logs:Post-Party Relaxing

2013-02-07T08:19:08Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Lina, Evali, Nathalia | where = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr | what = After the party, Lina sneaks into the caverns to scavenge a little dinner, and enlight..."

{{ Log
| who = Lina, Evali, Nathalia
| where = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
| what = After the party, Lina sneaks into the caverns to scavenge a little dinner, and enlightens Nathalia and Evali about clutches past and present.
| when = Late, Day 26, Month 2, Turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = YYYY.MM.DD
| quote = I suppose High Reaches' dragons could just be abnormally fertile.
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = lina.jpg, evali.jpg
| log =

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.

Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

----

It had been a wild party, certainly not what the new smithcrafter had been expecting. Somewhere along the line the party had died and Nathalia had lost her guide to the Crafting Complex in the process. Rather than find herself horribly lost she had opted for a seat at the table where the drinks had been. "a shelling map would have been nice." She mutters sipping on a mug of klah.

Late-come to the party, Lina missed all the excitement -- much to the greenrider's chagrin. She's still managed to scrounge some food, which she brings over with something of a hobble to the nearest table - Nathalia's table. She gingerly lowers herself into a chair, stretching her bad leg out before her with a sigh, and remarks, "Some night, hm? Fourteen eggs-- can you believe it?"
Nathalia glances up at the woman as she settles into a chair. "Hardly, and a fourth queen to boot." She took a long sip from her mug. "I don't think I have ever seen so much excitement back at the Craft Hall." She studied the woman with a tired smile. "I am Nathalia, formerly of the Smith Hall until today."

"A fourth queen indeed." It's hard to tell if Lina looks pleased at the news, or merely overwhelmed. "Well met, Nathalia. I'm Lina-- Aryeth's. I'm on Meara's weyrlingmaster staff." The greenrider looks equally tired, and she raises her fork in mock-salute. "Dragonriders are prone to excitement, didn't you know? Are you newly-posted?"

"Well met Lina, sounds like your going to have your hands full this turn." The girl responded. She's worried about the odd number of queen's as well but doesn't voice it. Nat can't help but snort a laugh. "I was born in igen, but I spent most my life in the hall, so this was my first /real/ weyrfolk experience." She grinned. "Happy to report that I survived." Another sip of klah before she speaks again. "Yes, Just arrived today actually. The Smithing Master Crafter thought that this might be a better learning environment for me, and I think im beginning to understand why." She looks at the woman again, a smile on her lips. "What about you? How long have you been a rider?"

"Smith? An actual smith-- not studying star or jewelry or one of the subsets?" Lina looks a bit impressed at this, studying Nathalia over her fork as she indulges in a couple of bites. "Well, welcome to High Reaches; I hope you find it suites. I haven't been here more than a couple of turns, myself, but-- they're good people here. They mean well. I impressed Aryeth, what-- Faranth, nearly ten turns ago? At Benden."

Nathalia chuckles at the question. "You sound like the other apprentices back at the craft hall. I followed my father into the Smith Craft proper." The girl sips some more on her Klah as she listens. "Twenty years." It's Nat's turn to be impressed. "A long time to be in such a dangerous line of work, I have heard good things about Benden, their wines in particular." She smiled at the welcome. "To be honest the weather is terrible, and the people are . . . colorful. It is growing on me a little though."

"It's not a usual occupation for a girl, though I suppose-- you said you were weyrbred? That might explain it," Lina teases over another bite of dinner. "It seems like only yesterday-- hard to imagine twenty turns have gone by. Then again, it's hard to remember life before I had Aryeth, so--" With difficulty, the greenrider shifts to rest her bad leg atop her good one. "Colorful does about describe High Reaches; I think they compensate for the weather. Dangerous?" She seems to have missed that part, until a nudge from elsewhere brings it to the fore. "Whatever do you mean?"

Evali heads in from the inner caverns.
Evali has arrived.

"I was born at Igen, but I am a craft hall brat through and through. I was only a few month's old when my father and I left." She sighed. "I suppose its more of a papa's daughter kind of thing, I remember watching him work at the forge sometimes. The way the sparks flew up from the metal the sooty smell, I loved all of it. The Nurses always said I was more boy than girl anyway." She laughs. "well when thread falls you are the ones who fight it, not to mention the dangers of drills and there are accidents. True were at an interveral but still, I think it takes a lot of guts to become a rider. Am I wrong?"

"We have fought thread," Lina admits ruefully, with none of the bluster that most riders would admit. "During the Comet Pass, Aryeth and I flew with the Benden wings. It was-- well, we're glad it's over. I can't imagine fifty turns of that." An elegant shudder runs through the weyrlingmaster, which she banishes with a forceful smile and subject change. "But anyways-- talk like that has no place on a special day like today. So, Nathalia of the Smithcraft Hall, have you been to see the eggs yet?"

It's after the bulk of the party has died off; there are still people here and there enjoying last-minute drinks and polishing off the food, but the crowds are quite thin. Lina and Nathalia are at an otherwise empty table, where the greenrider is doing her best to catch up on a late dinner.

It isn't until the party /ends/ that Evali has the nerve to come out and see what all the fuss is about. Crowds are far beyond her; she moves hesitantly through the people who are left behind, and tentatively gets herself a glass of merely water. Her hair is down and shrouding her face, and she's got a fluffy winter hat on as well -- despite being indoors. The seat she picks is uncomfortably close to Nathalia and Lina for her own comfort, but then again, theirs is a conversation she can merely eavesdrop on instead of being forced to actually /participate/, and it counts as 'mingling.'

Nat frowned, sorry that she had brought up a sensitive topic. She laughed at mention of the eggs. "Yeah a caught a glance while trying to find my room a little while ago. This place is a lot more difficult to navigate than I thought it would be. First clutch I ever laid eyes on, and quite an interesting assortment." She glances up as another sits at the table. She offers a friendly smile "Hello"

"The Weyr /is/ big, no doubt about that. I'm sure it doesn't help that they're keeping all you crafters so far away from the rest of the caverns, mmm? So long as Iovniath is feeling relaxed, you're free to stop by at any time to watch them. I'm sure betting will start soon, on the thirteen eggs that aren't quite so obvious." Lina glances over at Evali, smiles curiously, then asks, "Any early thoughts? Either of you? I haven't been down to look, myself."

"I -- haven't seen." Evali only doesn't seem unsurprised to be spoken to because Evali's countenance is usually rather like a sheet of thin rock: steady and unmoving. "Yet. I intend to -- I hear there is a gold one?" She tilts her head a little, curiously, at the others. The people who may really know anything at all. "And that that doesn't always happen? Is it a good thing or a bad thing, because I have heard both and --" Tiny, awkward shrug.

Nathalia thought a moment about the eggs, about their shapes and colors, and what might be contained in them. "Do you mean as to the colors or what will come out of which egg?" she asked. "I would put marks on it that there's at least one Bronze, but as for the rest. . . If I had to guess I would say probably about three or four greens, Three to four blues, possibly more than one bronze, and a few that won't hatch."

"There's definitely a gold one; Aryeth heard that much. That leaves thirteen eggs up for grabs." At Evali's hesitation, Lina clarifies, "It's a Weyr tradition to bet on which eggs are going to hatch what color hatchling. When we've got candidate, the betting will include them too." The weyrlingmaster lets out a helpless laugh at Nathalia's estimates, waving her fork for emphasis. "Well of course there'll likely be one bronze. Probably a few more greens, though-- it's hard to say, Cadejoth does tend to throw more males than most. I'm sure they'll all hatch, though." She has a sharp look for Nathalia at that, and her voice is firm on this point. "Iovniath is known for being a good mother."

Evali sits up a little straighter, at the mention of them not hatching. "I didn't know that happened," she says, sounding even /more/ distant now. "The same way it does with humans. I have had many deliveries die and yet more always live. Being a good mother isn't -- it doesn't matter, with people, but I suppose with eggs --" She is so, so out of her depth.

Nat shrugged. "I didn't mean any offense by it, I am sure Iovniath is probably the picture of mother hood. I was going more off the weather and what I have heard other Weyr's hatchings to be. Then again, four queens. . . . I suppose High Reaches' dragons could just be abnormally fertile." She glanced at the thinner girl as she spoke. "No being a good mother doesn't seem to matter with people at all, not when you can just hand off a child to someone else." There's a bitter note there. "It's harder to tell with eggs." She averted the train of thought she'd been on. She glanced over at Lina. "That's right you guys will be even more crowded once search starts. Especially with the candidate barracks being occupied."

"Sometimes it happens to even the best of golds," Lina admits, somewhat reluctantly. "But it's more likely to happen with inexperienced mothers, or if there was a poor flight. As neither apply--" She sets her fork down with a clatter, pushing her still half-full plate away. "-- we'll just have to see. I'm sure the Weyrleaders have the issue with the barracks and the islanders well in-hand. They'll just have to move over to one side so we can bring in our candidates; it's not likely there'll be more than thirty, in any case. And there's time yet, and no reason the weyrbred ones can't stay living where they are."

/More/ people. This time, Evali visibly frowns. It is a rare expression on her, but it's definitely there. "Of course," she says with a tiny sigh -- also unusual, actually speaking aloud to strangers! "Is fourteen a lot or a small number?"

Nathalia nodded. "Then I guess I will amend my previous estimate to two Bronzes, three browns four blues and the rest greens." She considered Lina's words. "I imagine some of the islanders might be eligible to stand as well. From what I have seen of the Weyr women of this place though, I agree that they undoubtedly have the situation under control." She smiled at Evali's question. "Fourteen's actually pretty large for a clutch during an interveral. Though I think someone told me it wasn't as large as the last clutch? Or maybe I misheard them in all the noise."

"It's not so small for an interval; having four queens, when they're all young and healthy /is/ unusual. But not unheard-of. It's comforting, given how recently High Reaches only had one." But as much as Lina would like to stay, she braces herself against the table and reluctantly pushes to her feet.

"Thirteen in the last clutch, and twenty in the one before that," she offers, offhand, in between puffs of breath as she gets her cane underneath her. "I'd best go take a look at them now, before Aryeth twists herself in a knot with impatience. A please, Nathalia. And--?" she looks expectantly at Evali.
Cautiously, more than distantly this time, "Evali." She gives the weyrlingmaster a tiny hint of a smile. "I met the one. Rielsath. I liked her." She says nothing, otherwise; she is merely taking in what's around her. And as her water is gone, she, too, brings herself to her feet. "I should also -- get back -- to my brother."

"Nice meeting you both then," Nat answers.

"Lina," the weyrlingmaster offers, though her hands are a bit full to offer one to shake. "Aryeth's. A pleasure. If you'll excuse me--?"

"Certainly, of course," Evali replies politely, even if it wasn't addressed at her; she is going to return her glass, now, though she moves slowly, until those she was speaking to no longer have their eyes on her.

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Logs:Taikrin Pays the Price

2013-02-07T08:13:04Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin | where = High Reaches Weyr Area | what = Vignette. Taikrin has been a bad girl. She needs to be punished. Occurs after the Clutching Party. | when = Da..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = High Reaches Weyr Area
| what = Vignette. Taikrin has been a bad girl. She needs to be punished. Occurs after the Clutching Party.
| when = Day 26, Month 2 - Day 1, Month 3, Turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.08
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = Exiles
| mentions = Riorde, F'rint, K'del, Tiriana
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_trouble.jpg
| log =

Taikrin had an awful lot of time to brood in the days following the clutching. She'd barely made it five steps outside of the Living Caverns that night before F'rint cornered her, and within a couple hours she and Szadath found themselves flying sweeps over the worst possible parts of mountain ranges. Double sweeps. While still drunk (and then, predictably, terribly hungover).

"Too much energy and not enough thinking," Glacier's wingleader had pronounced. "Let's see if we can fix that."

A pattern was established pretty quickly: fly sweeps for eight hours, return to the Weyr to check in, eat, and take a nap, and then six hours later back out on sweeps again. It left an awful lot of time to mull over her situation, and since she'd been expressly forbidden from taking out a flask with her, Taikrin's thoughts were depressingly clear. The sweeps were /boring/: nothing to see but endless snow-covered peaks and valleys, passing by at a crawlingly slow pace as Szadath conserved his strength for the grueling day of flying. They were forbidden from between, and so by the second half of their first day of sweeps around the Weyr, they were re-covering ground.

By the third, the knowledge that they were uselessly circling the Weyr unto exhaustion was driving them a little mad. She and Szadath had rehashed events of the last two sevendays over and over, until it was burned so crystal-bright into their brains that they had trouble distinguishing their interpretation from actual events. The rest of their day was so mind-numbingly dull, it was all they could think about -- which was, of course, the point.

"Maybe it's the Weyrwoman-- she always liked us, maybe he's tryin' to turn her against us so she won't say anythin' if he sets us up to take a fall? But /where/ would he send us? Don't know as how they can chain-gang up a rider."

<< There is no place they can take you that I will not find. And they would help us. >> He flashed impressions of his friends, his team: some of his clutchmates, Iskiveth at the fore; wingmates; even Iovniath and Cadejoth, with the respect he reserved only for the leading pair. << You are mine, and we are together. >>

"Ain't so sure about that, me. But--" Taikrin shifted her thoughts with a skill borne out of long practice over the last few days. "-- what do you think he's on about Riorde? Seemed awful worked up somethin' that weren't no big deal. I still say we oughta warn her. What if he gets t'her? Poor thing don't know nothin' about nothin'."

<< I don't want to talk to her. It doesn't feel right. >>

This argument, in particular, had been hashed out many times over, and had the sound of rote repitition on both sides.

"But what if she's in trouble, an' it's 'cause of us? That ain't right."

<< Cadejoth and Iovniath-- >> Again infused with respect and a powerful minging of their impressions: honored parents; canny leaders; shrewd tacticians. << -- said that we should just wait. Then we could have her back. >>

"Yeah, but what if th'Weyrleader's takin' her? Turnin' her against us? Or worse-- hurtin' her? Forcin' her into his bed, maybe? What if she don't know better, that she can say no? /Szad/! I ain't gonna let it be my fault!"

Taikrin rallied against the encroaching exhaustion, injecting more fire into her voice than she'd managed to summon since that disasterous party night. Thumping a fist on his neck for emphasis, she insisted, "I /won't/! We got her into this mess, an' it's only /right/ that we get her out!"

And what could Szadath do? Exhausted from his endless hours of flight, demoralized from their joint punishment, he finally conceded, << Alright. I'll do it. For you. >>

----

When the exhausted pair finished their third day of punishment, sore in every muscle in their body and limp with the day's exertion, they collapsed together on Szadath's couch in a boneless pile. But before the brown could fall asleep, he reached out, reluctantly, to an unfamiliar mind. They knew nothing of the events at the Weyr that might have taken place on this, the first of the new month, only that they had to warn their innocent accomplice before something terrible happened.

A distant voice, reverberating like a call through a canyon miles away, echoed softly in Riorde's head: << I am Szadath; Do nothing, say nothing; avoid Cadejoth's. Lay low, and Taikrin will explain. She has a plan. >>

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Logs:Kids and their drinking contests...

2013-02-07T08:06:35Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Riorde, Lirienne, Nathalia, Elgin, Rhaelyn
| where = The Snowasis, HRW
| what = Taikrin's wingmates take her to a drinking contest between Nathalia and Elgin to raise her spirits. Instead, she narrowly avoids a run-in with Riorde and Rhaelyn! Poor kids, drinking themselves into oblivion.
| when = Afternoon, day 4, month 3, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.09
| quote = A bet may be the only way a boy can get a proper kiss out of you.
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = Taikrin_worried.jpg, riorde.jpg, e'gin.jpg, rhaelyn.jpg, liri.jpg
| log =

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

----

Its early afternoon and unsurprisingly the Snowasis is a buzz with activity, though it seems to be a bit livelier than usual. Apparently, news about the little wager had spread overnight. The thrum of activity surprised Nathalia as she entered the room, she hadn't quite expected a crowd. She starts to ask the barkeep something but he points to a table that is set up with two seats and a row of five small tumblers in front of each wooden chair. She takes her seat and patiently waits for her opponent to arrive, studying the bottle of whisky that is just waiting to be poured.

Lirienne slips in, giving the Snowasis a rather uncertain look as she takes in the various booths and the like. Spotting Nathalia, she crosses over towards the setup, casing her gaze on the tumblers waiting to be filled. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Nathalia?"

It doesn't take long for the islander to show his face. Elgin strides in to the Snowasis, grinning, though there is a hestitation in his step as he sees those gathered. A few he's sure have wagers, he looks over at the female with him, he has to hide a wince as he sees her face. "You ready?" He asks her as the come up to the table. "Nathalia. You ready to lose?" He asks as his attention is turned to the smith apprentince.

Strolling in after Elgin, Rhae is making a big show of being confident and carefree as she escorts him into the room, not touching, but close enough to be. Her voice is low, "Just what am I to be judging anyway? When you fall out of your chair it will be indication enough that you're shit-drunk." Her voice sounds funny, perhaps something with her lip. When he winces at her she lifts her chin, proud as ever and trails after him, flashing a cocky smile at the others as though nothing at all is wrong with her.

There, tucked into a booth with the curtain half-closed, sits a trio of Glacier riders: a man in his mid-twenties, an older woman, and Taikrin. The brownrider's face is red with windburn, and she has dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. Most startling of all, perhaps, is the fact that she looks stone-cold sober, and that the glass in her hands appears to have little more than water. The other two riders are talking softly while Taikrin stares out, glumly, at the table set up for the contest.

When Riorde comes in, it's from the opposite entrance than the one Elgin and Rhaelyn take. With book in hand, she's all sulky as she maintains her distance from the others, preferring to stay on her lonesome in one of the booths rather than crowded round the table set up with liquor and tumblers. Sliding into her seat, Riordehe puts each of her elbows on the table and falls into a slouch towards the fists that are balled up under her chin. Her hair's loose and untidy, but it doesn't hide the dark discoloration of a bruise on one of her cheekbones -- or her glower, directed at Rhaelyn.

Nathalia greets the Lirienne warmly and shakes her head at the question. "Do dragons fly? Trust me on this, I may not look it, but I've got a higher tolerance for the stuff than most." Her attention is drawn over to Elgin as he enters a wicked smile curving over her lips. "Just sit down already, I haven't lost yet, and I don't intend on loosing now. I really hate cleaning hearths and ashes you know." Her eyes flick to the girl following him in, his judge most likely, she hadn't been able to find one herself but it wouldn't matter much. She recognizes her as the girl from the clutching party and allows a heavy sigh to escape. The other occupants of the bar garner her attention as well, but for the moment she needs to focus. "You can pour if you prefer, same bottle so you know I am not cheating you."

It takes a moment for Taikrin to recognize Rhaelyn; after all, she wasn't terribly sober that night. Her expression turns thoughtful as she stares at the exile girl, lingering especially on the damage done to her face. She leans over to murmur something to her companions, gesturing at the pair of exiles at the contest table as she does so; clearly, she hasn't yet spotted Riorde.

One wicked smile is returned for another, Elgin's is half friendly and half, verging on, evil. "Oh, I don't intend to lose either. A bet may be the only way a boy can get a proper kiss out of you." He pulls the chair underneath him and settles himself at the table. "Let the judges pour, you for me, mine for yours..." He looks around with a smirk, he noticed the girl hadn't brought one but makes a show of it. "Oh, nevermind then. Rhaelyn can pour for us both...If she will." A gesture of asking to the other islander. "And, before we begin, what counts as the loss, falling out of the stool...expelling...what was already consumed or just flat out passing out?"

Lirienne shakes her head, as the two seem determined to follow through on this. Finding a booth to lean against, the coppertop settles in to watch - and to comment softly, "You're going to get awfully sick," to the duo.

Rhaelyn settles in behind Elgin and gives Nathalia a haughty smile, "Well, hello there." Still looking at the other woman she asks her fellow exile, "Are you -sure- she's worth the kiss just to drink the crazy-sauce?" She has pride in spades and so the mess of her face doesn't seem to be any concern to her. When Elgin assigns her for pouring duty, a sharp finger jabs his side, "Don't press your luck." But, she does pick up the bottle, waiting to hear just how far their drinking is going to go. "I think passing out. Although, if either of you sick up on me...." The threat lingers there as she looks around to see who else is in the room. Oh! Riorde. She smiles so sweetly in that direction, a sugary sweet, evil smile.

Nor has Riorde seen Taikrin. For the moment, the focus of her regard rests on Rhaelyn: a heavy, black look that isn't improved by her smile. For smile she does when Rhaelyn pitches one at her, a contemptuous mockery of a smile for her counterpart.

Nat thought about that a minute. "You are probably quite right about that." Or anybody to get a kiss out of her for that matter, but she does not voice the last bit. She glances up at Liri who's concern makes her smile sweetly. "I will only get sick If I misjudged him and don't drink enough water afterwards." If she did end up sick she knew she'd owe the healer one hell of an apology. Nathalia could already tell she wasn't going to like Rhaelyn, there was something about the smile she had thrown at the other woman that just didn't settle well. The insult however does not go without a reply. "Whether or not I am worth it, I doubt anyone here will be wishing to kiss you for quite a while, given the way you chase riders." She smiled equally sweet, but hers was a smile filled with poison.

It takes little prompting for Taikrin to follow Rhaelyn's gaze, out of idle curiosity if nothing else. And if she was not particularly concerned about the girl's black eyes, she is proportionally /very/ upset about the obvious damage to Riorde's. She manages to get half out of the booth, bellowing, "What--!" before her companions bodily pull her back down and shush her with muttered imprecations. Clearly heard from the groaning male, "I /knew/ this was a bad idea."

A manifestly unhappy look starts to settle on Liri's expression, as her gaze flits from person to person, the signs of damage being done. Turning towards Nat and Elgin to protest, her mouth clicks shut before the words escape. Slouching against the booth, at this point the apprentice just crosses her arms to watch. "Don't want either of you to get sick, honestly."

"Oh well, I'm not sure, Rhaelyn. I mean she very well could be. The only way to really find out if someone is worth a kiss, is to test it out." Elgin looks back at Rhaelyn with a chuckle, "And since I'm sure /we/ won't be trying it I'd like to see if Nathalia fits the bill." He can't hold back a slightly tickled smile as he's poked but his attention is drawn to Royre, to Rhaelyn, to Taikrin as she shouts across the room, and then he lets his eyes move between them all again. Something clicks in his mind and suddenly he's a little overly cheery. "Well, well ladies...I suppose we should get this underway. Yes?"

Rhaelyn can't hear Nathalia's thoughts, but she eyes the girl coldly and when the other finally does put voice to the words, she just barks out a dry laugh, "I am not the one selling out my kisses over a game." Rhae reminds her, followed by a sad 'tsktsking'. "So, if you fall out of your chair, you have a chance to scramble up and try another round?" She's pouring the liquid into the glasses not, the shout from the rider's area missed or else just ignored while she gets to the business of glass-filling. When the line is set up, she draws back, "Alright, drink."

Riorde catches enough of Nathalia's remark to Rhaelyn to look momentarily satisfied, vindicated. That flicker of pleasure dies quite suddenly as the shout from beyond Rhaelyn draws her attention, eyes growing wide with the surprise of seeing Taikrin as she's wrestled back into her seat. Rather obviously staring, Riorde pays next to no mind to the start of the contest, except to give the slightest tilt of her chin to indicate Rhaelyn, then the small gesture of her right fist knocking the other beneath her chin, the miming of a punch.

Nat's eyes flitted over to the brownrider who had stood and then was yanked down by her companions. She recognized the face, and felt an immediate pity that she hadn't had the chance to ask the woman to act as judge on her side. Then again Nathalia hadn't wanted a fight either, just a competition between friends. She gives an appreciative glance at Liri's words, but the smile on her lips is one of a woman quite used to fending for herself. "Promise I will do my best not to." She suppresses a chuckle at the boy's still bouncy attitude, at least there is someone in the room who's not on edge about the situation. Rhaelyn just gets a smile. "No all it takes for you is a drink, and a few complements." The words are quiet, and before anything else is said, Nat down's the first tumbler with ease, turning it upside-down with a grin on her face. "Yes as long as you can get it down your still in the game. " She smiles at Elgin, almost wickedly. "Can you keep up Islander? Don't go too hard on yourself, you will be scrubbing flagstones tomorrow morning." Her words are friendly and playful, she is actually enjoying herself for a change. She offers a grin to the onlookers.

Elgin lifts the glass to his mouth and throws his head back, the shot is taken with ease, "The easiest way to lose in war or love is to underestimate your opponent, smith." The words are said with a light tone, everyone else in the room may be tense, but he too is for once having a good time. "I hope your lips aren't chapped and that you've been practicing because you have may have met your match in drinking and kissing...But don't worry I'll wait till you wake up before I kiss you. I want you to remember it." Everyone else is ignored for now. "That's smoothe, what did you pour us Rhaeyln?"

Taikrin looks ready to do murder, though at least it'll be quiet murder-- despite the initial outburst, she seems reluctant to draw attention to herself. Her gaze remains locked on Riorde though, and a grim little smile forms when the meaning of the exile's gesturings becomes clear. Her head jerks, sharply, in a nod of approval, before her gaze is broken by her companion's urgent grab of her arm. There's a muted argument, with the greenrider gesturing towards the door while Taikrin shakes her head with dogged determination.

Insults from Nathalia don't charge Rhae up. There is a moment though that it looks like she might give the girl a face full of liquor right from the bottle. Somehow the bruise-faced exile holds steady and just smirks back at her. "Shut up and drink." When asked what she's pouring she makes a show of eyeing the label, "Like you'd know what's 'smooth' and not....I think this is Rot-Gut number 9." Sneaking a look over at Lirienne and smirks at the other judge. Another round is poured out, not allowing the contestants time for their booze to settle.

A faint, self-satisfied smile settles into place following Taikrin's nod. Riorde doesn't make a move to do anything besides communicate across the room in gaze and gesture, watching the apparent disagreement at the Glacier table intently, leaning forward an inch more. As for the drinking - she follows it absently, with the odd glance now and again, but it's clear her attention's elsewhere.

Lirienne, the unknowing judge! That said, while she keeps an eye on said contestants, she makes her way over towards Rhaelyn. "Uhm, that's not gonna do much more than make them pass out or sick up, right?" Despite being older, clearly Rhae's the more experienced.

It's not a disagreement that Taikrin is going to win, apparently. Within a few minutes, Taikrin is looking down and away like a sulky child... and then sliding out of the bench with the bluerider's hand wrapped firmly around her upper arm. She glares briefly at her friend, glances over to offer a sardonic smile to Riorde, and then is summarily frog-marched out of the bar. Whoops. Once she's gone, her remaining companion - the older greenrider - continues to stare curiously at Riorde.

Nathalia picks up a glass and almost sprays what she's drinking across the table as Elgin speaks. She gets it down and a choking laugh erupts, she can't decide if she's happy he's taking it so seriously or not, but he's at least keeping it entertaining. "No point in practicing for things that never happen." She grins. He's persistent she will give him that. She glances at Taikrin a moment before the little tunnel snake decides to fill another glass. "I am perfectly capable of drinking and conversing thank you for your concern." She smiles pleasantly but there is a cold look when Rhae looks over at Liri. Still, she picks up another glass and downs it more quickly, watching as the brownrider leaves. "Nah, so long as there's plenty of water involved after things should be fine, he'll puke before there's any /real/ danger." She explained.

Briefly, Riorde looks disappointed. Her gaze tracks the brownrider out before she glances at the remaining Glacier rider and with the lift of her eyebrows communicates some sort of 'what are you looking at?' question. Since Taikrin's not there to stare at anymore, Riorde takes reluctant interest in the contest. "How long is this gonna take?" Her mutter doesn't have a clear target.

Elgin is only trying to keep the peace, "Maybe not." He agrees with Rhaelyn, "Just trying to keep up the small talk." But his full attention is back on Nathalia, "What you don't understand..." He breaks in the middle of his sentence to shoot down the next drink. His head curls to the side and then unfurls with a, "Ahhh." The kind that of sound that exclaims both pain and pleasure, "is that you are really underestimating the competition. That has been the down fall of many a person, and from I've read of flights, the downfall of many a dragon too." Little attention is given to the leaving riders, Elgin as usual, is determined to keep it civil. Rhaelyn is given another grin, "Don't be so jealous that it isn't you that I wagered the kiss on." He tone is joking. "Of course, if it was us we'd probably kill each other before the end of the contest."

It's amusing really, that an older person asks the unschooled exile. Rhae is about to answer Lirienne when Nathalia blurts out and her eyes roll, "Why bother asking me? Your buddy there knows it all." h remarks in high spirits. However, she does add, "I think that it makes people crazy, but will these two really miss their minds? It could be a mercy for them perhaps." More rot-gut fills another round of glasses. While she's waiting for them to pick up the glasses again, her gaze drifts over to the departing rider and then back to Riorde, snickering quietly at the exile's sorrow. "You don't have to stay. You could follow her...Oh. No you can't." giggle giggle. For Elgin's remark of her jealousy? She smacks the back of his head with the flat of her hand.

The greenrider arches an eyebrow at Riorde in return, a hint of an amused smile playing on her face. She gestures eloquently for Riorde to turn back to the contest, whether the exile actually sees the gesture or not, then shifts enough to include Rhaelyn in her measuring stare.

Either following the greenrider's suggestion or under her own steam, Riorde turns her head enough to give the appearance of following the competition. Rather than respond hotly to Rhaelyn, Ri considers the other girl for a long moment -- or, more specifically, her nose. "Watch your back if I was you, tomorrow when they have us cleaning up carcasses from the feeding pens or whatever else it is," she says conversationally.

Well, when it comes to booze, it's best to ask the expert. In this case, the person pouring the drinks. "Yes, but she's already had, well, two drinks?" she points out, a bit of a red tide rushing in. There's a pause "... I've never heard drink makes people loose their mind. Sense, yes, but mind?"

Lirienne would be the one going to the expert.

Apparently the hall wasn't the only place to find haughty swine, save that here it seemed to center more around sows than boars. Nathalia has an appreciation for Elgin attempting to keep the peace but it's hard for the smith to feign kindness to one clearly undeserving of it. Three drinks in and she is starting to feel a slight warmth in her belly. As for the comment on minds Nat can't help but mutter about the value of at least /having/ an education. Whether or not anyone hears she glares at the girl who's intent on goading someone else. For the first time Nathalia really appraises Riorde, and offers a smile before Elgin speaks again, causing her to laugh. "Really now, who is underestimating whom?" She studies the boy again, and can't help but smiling. "I am certainly going to enjoy having my own assistant."

Elgin is also starting to feel a little more content with three drinks now settling in his stomach. He over hears part of the smiths mutter but lets it go besides a knowing lift of his eyebrow, there are lines to his easy-going way. The comment about minds receives a grin, he turns to appraise the two ladies behind him, "I may lose some of my inhabitions but I doubt that I would lose my mind..." He taps his head with his pointer-finger, as he turns back to Nathalia, still tapping. "I have never underestimated you! I find you to be a most worthy advisary...Except that you don't seem to understand that it is I who will be winning this litter wager. That is really your only fault."

With a pulped face like Rhae's wearing, being stared out is getting to be the usual. A lazy hand combs through her hair as she turns a shoulder to the greenrider staring her down. It's a curious look that she returns to Ri at her threat, eyebrow arching, "I'm terrified." And smiling. "I'm afraid I don't know one way or another. Senses, Mind. It makes people crazy, isn't that damange of the mind?" Rhae asks Lirienne while the two drink. Then it's more amber liquid splashing into the glasses for the next round.

Riorde just smiles back at Rhaelyn, at first tight and thin and then expanding into a toothier grin. "See you tomorrow." It sounds more like a threat than a goodbye as she slides out of her booth and heads for the exit.

Lirienne huhs quietly, then steps away from Rhaelyn, shaking her head a bit. Then sighing at the boasting, before she looks back at the offical judge. "Well, in that case, perhaps the drinks should come faster, if they have time to fli..ng comments at each other?" Any low-tide that had occured is reversed, as red sweeps up again at her own words.

"Slower's harder, you know," the greenrider calls towards the table; apparently she caught at least a part or Lirienne's comment. "Make them wait ten minutes between drinks, and then you'll see them fall all over each other. Much more entertaining." Her gaze cuts distractedly over to follow Riorde's exit, but she doesn't appear to care one way or another. "Didn't anyone tell you children how to do this?"

Nathalia appraised the row of glasses carefully, up to this point she'd been pacing herself, she calculated her opponent very carefully, before speaking. "I haven't met a male yet who could best me, and the Smith Hall was flooded with them." Well that wasn't entirely accurate. Her father was probably about the only person she couldn't out drink. She raises a thick eyebrow at Liri's pause in words, and was fairly sure that fling wasn't the word she had originally intended. That seemed to settle it, Nat went down the row of tumblers moving on once each, as if daring Rhae to keep up with the pouring. Her throat burned and the warmth in her stomach intensified a little. "too much talk, no action." She grinned impishly. She frowned at the rider, now knowing her plan had been outed.

"That may be true, but you've never tried me, that seems highly unfair." Elgin gives a look of mock hurt to the smith, still his mouth crinkles a little as she does the whole row. Liri is given a chuckle, even if it is just to distract himself from what he must do now. "What wrong with a little -flinging- of words. Flinging words never hurt anyone." His smirk is settled back on Nathalia, each glass is titled back, down the row, he doesn't pause, and his eyes stay focused on the girl in front of him. He slams the last glass down when he done, and as it hits the sound is louder than he expected. The look on his face says he knows he may be in over his head, though he hides it quickly. "Again." Is all that is offered, the boys gaze glazing over slightly.

"I missed that lesson in Boozecraft classses." Rhaelyn replies to the greenrider as she keeps fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "I think we have a handle on this though, it's only a friendly wager between these two." The thought of going slower to make it worse on them /is/ entertaining. So she does hesitate, making a show of turning over the glasses, allowing more time for their stomachs to marinate before the next round. The glasses are filled up as she rolls her eyes over Nathalia's braggery.

"Ah, a timed release. That sound make sense, given some medicine is put in distilled medicines," Liri murmurs, before looking up and offering a fleeting smile. "My apologies for the need to instruct - for I have to admit, I have never spoken to anyone on how to hold a drinking contest. Or even been to one."

/shards and shells/ Nat isn't happy now. Its only a matter of time before the alcohol starts taking effect and he's keeping an even pace. What the shell did she know about kissing any how, other than it was something to be avoided at all costs. A venomous glance at Rhae, but she takes a glass as its poured. She just has to out last him, but she hasn't been drinking water too like she normally does. "What the shells do I know about kissing or the like, ffttt I can't loosse. Don't know how to do any of that properly, and the work room they gave me is a sharding mess. Never tried anyone and I sure as Farnath don't plan to start now." She's getting louder now, and here come the obscenities.

"Bunch of children," the greenrider remarks with amusement. "Come down here next restday, and we'll show you a real contest." Still, she offers a casual bit of advice as she stands and moves to leave, "Make sure they have access to healers, after this, to make sure they don't get the blood poison. Have fun, kids."

Rhaelyn laughs, "Blood poison." For whatever raeson, that just tickles the exile pink. "Oh Fishbones and fornication. You two are so screwed." Another laugh and she waits for them to finish their line of drinks. "Thank you rider, I think I will come and watch the 'real' fun, with professionals." The real liver-killers. She smirks at Elgin as he flirts with her, "You don't need to. By the way, I think you made a suckass bet--since your lady here doesn't know about kissing." It's only when Elgin talks about a nap that she gets back to refilling their glasses, "Drink up! Neither of you look like passing out yet."

The rider was right of course, Nathalia hadn't quite been as confident as she pretended. Sure she could kick the tails of any of the guys back home, but Dragonriders were something else entirely. Nat waved a bar keep over with a pitcher of water to start damage control quickly, downing a couple glasses before she even /thought/ about picking up another of the rotgut. "I certainly don't need /lessons/" she could feel her head get a little fuzzy, but the water would at least help some. She glared at Rhaelyn, "Yes well I don't make habits of finding self confidence in other people's beds or at their expense." And there went the filter that Nat had worked so hard to achieve. "Not cheating, waiting for you to pass out." She grumbled.

"You're both getting a pitcher of water after this. Two, if one's needed to wake you up, I hope you realize." Because blood poisoning, and needing a healer afterwards? Is enough to make Liri fret, to the point where a bit of hair has made its way into her mouth.

"Water? Water!" Elgin doesn't know a whole lot about this, but it doesn't seem right. There is something horribly wrong here and he's not going to stand by and take it. Or he is going to stand. Elgin starts to stand, but half way up starts to look a little green and thinks better of it settling back into his chair. "You jusss...you juss...you just said you didn't know. I'm trying to be /nice/..." He takes another shot, no water, cause he's a /man/, and he half turn half falls in the direction of Rhaelyn, "Maaaayybbee...maybe it was a bad bet, but s'not like the one I /want/ to...to..to kissss me. Would." He grabs the other islanders hand, and his mouth opens to say something else, but instead his head rolls slowly to oneside, and then backward and finally crashes to the table.

Nat nodded at the healer, "Yes well I have been singularly stupid, I think maybe I did underestimate him." She whispered at Liri, and there he went. Nat wouldn't forget the words, she hadn't wanted to necessarily kiss anyone, but she also didn't like the thought of being a proxy for someone else. "Er Water, lots of it, I am going to be pissing like a runner beast. And ah, we have to try to carry him now to the healers don't we?" She looked a little unhappy at the idea. She was unsure how she felt about winning, but she did look quite relieved. She hoped he'd forgive her for the headache he'd have tomorrow.

Rhaelyn laughs again, head shaking slowly back and forth as the drinking girl's comment just draws up deeper amusement. Even though the 'judge' is taunting Nathalia, there's no love-lost on Elgin either for when he wavers, she smirks cruely at him and his soon-to-be downfall. When Elgin reaches out to her, her haughty features transform into horror, "oh -groosss-." There she is, the messy drunk Elgin gushing over her before head-desking. His hands still limp in hers as his body slumps over. "Well, it looks like you win Nathalia. Congratulations? YOu don't have to have him sucking your face. Hope you make him shovel out latrines while he's still hungover."

Rhaelyn adds haughtily, "I will make sure he gets to the healers." As though she doesn't trust the drunk girl to do it. "You just look after yourself."

"... boys." Because really, that about sums it up for Lirienne. Elgin gets a look, just to make sure he's still breathing, then she slumps a bit. "Probably - I haven't had to learn about blood poisoning yet." To Nat, "Lots of waters. Pitchers, and pitchers of it."

An icy glare was shot in Rhae's direction for the latrines comment. She obviously doesn't trust Rhae to look after the boy either. Especialy after her reaction to the fall. "Take this however you want, but /I/ look after my /friends/, and I take responsibility for /my/ actions." She's only in slightly better shape herself, but its obvious she won't let the issue go. She is after all responsible. Rhae has also proven to be quite the cruel little wherry too. She glances at Liri, the only other person so far in the room who has earned the title of 'friend' "Yeah that's the best treatment."

"oh /shut/ /up/." Rhaelyn says quietly to Nathalia. "I'm sick of your insults. I've had nothing but insults from you. All day. Give it a rest. You think I don't take responsability for my actions? You think I'm not a good person? Well boo-hoo, you drunk little know-it-all. You sit here and drink your sharding water. I'm taking Elgin to the healer. I can at least walk and see straight. Maybe -your- friend Lirienne should take care of you."

"H-hold it, ladies. I'm actually concerned about b-both contestants," Lirienne holds up her hands, pulling hair out of her mouth to protest. "Maybe both should g-go to the healers, just to make sure?"

Nat was intoxicated, and now furious. "I only returned what you dished out, If you have a problem with it don't open your mouth in the first place." She actually listens to Liri though and nods. "I want to at least see him to the healers, and then Liri I will drink as much water as you like.

Rhaelyn puts the bottle on the top of the table and leans over close to Nat, "I think you should think about who tossed out the first insult." Afterall, it was Nat who started baiting her. "I only asked Elgin if his choice in bets..." She shrugs and walks out, "Fucking asshole."

Lirienne reaches up to rub at the bridge of her nose, then shakes her head. "Healers first, fights s-second, please. I'll help with Elgin, given Nat can still walk." Sorta. In a drunken sort of way. And that's what she'll do. Even if it takes a while for insults to pass and the like.

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Logs:Kids and their drinking contests...

2013-02-07T08:03:07Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Riorde, Lirienne, Nathalia, Elgin, Rhaelyn | where = The Snowasis, HRW | what = Taikrin's wingmates take her to a drinking contest between Nathalia and Elgin to..."

{{ Log
| who = Riorde, Lirienne, Nathalia, Elgin, Rhaelyn
| where = The Snowasis, HRW
| what = Taikrin's wingmates take her to a drinking contest between Nathalia and Elgin to raise her spirits. Instead, she narrowly avoids a run-in with Riorde and Rhaelyn! Poor kids, drinking themselves into oblivion.
| when = Afternoon, day 4, month 3, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.09
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_worried.jpg, riorde.jpg, elgin.jpg, rhaelyn.jpg, lirienne.jpg
| log =

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.

Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

----

Its early afternoon and unsurprisingly the Snowasis is a buzz with activity, though it seems to be a bit livelier than usual. Apparently, news about the little wager had spread overnight. The thrum of activity surprised Nathalia as she entered the room, she hadn't quite expected a crowd. She starts to ask the barkeep something but he points to a table that is set up with two seats and a row of five small tumblers in front of each wooden chair. She takes her seat and patiently waits for her opponent to arrive, studying the bottle of whisky that is just waiting to be poured.

Lirienne slips in, giving the Snowasis a rather uncertain look as she takes in the various booths and the like. Spotting Nathalia, she crosses over towards the setup, casing her gaze on the tumblers waiting to be filled. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Nathalia?"

It doesn't take long for the islander to show his face. Elgin strides in to the Snowasis, grinning, though there is a hestitation in his step as he sees those gathered. A few he's sure have wagers, he looks over at the female with him, he has to hide a wince as he sees her face. "You ready?" He asks her as the come up to the table. "Nathalia. You ready to lose?" He asks as his attention is turned to the smith apprentince.

Strolling in after Elgin, Rhae is making a big show of being confident and carefree as she escorts him into the room, not touching, but close enough to be. Her voice is low, "Just what am I to be judging anyway? When you fall out of your chair it will be indication enough that you're shit-drunk." Her voice sounds funny, perhaps something with her lip. When he winces at her she lifts her chin, proud as ever and trails after him, flashing a cocky smile at the others as though nothing at all is wrong with her.

There, tucked into a booth with the curtain half-closed, sits a trio of Glacier riders: a man in his mid-twenties, an older woman, and Taikrin. The brownrider's face is red with windburn, and she has dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes. Most startling of all, perhaps, is the fact that she looks stone-cold sober, and that the glass in her hands appears to have little more than water. The other two riders are talking softly while Taikrin stares out, glumly, at the table set up for the contest.

When Riorde comes in, it's from the opposite entrance than the one Elgin and Rhaelyn take. With book in hand, she's all sulky as she maintains her distance from the others, preferring to stay on her lonesome in one of the booths rather than crowded round the table set up with liquor and tumblers. Sliding into her seat, Riordehe puts each of her elbows on the table and falls into a slouch towards the fists that are balled up under her chin. Her hair's loose and untidy, but it doesn't hide the dark discoloration of a bruise on one of her cheekbones -- or her glower, directed at Rhaelyn.

Nathalia greets the Lirienne warmly and shakes her head at the question. "Do dragons fly? Trust me on this, I may not look it, but I've got a higher tolerance for the stuff than most." Her attention is drawn over to Elgin as he enters a wicked smile curving over her lips. "Just sit down already, I haven't lost yet, and I don't intend on loosing now. I really hate cleaning hearths and ashes you know." Her eyes flick to the girl following him in, his judge most likely, she hadn't been able to find one herself but it wouldn't matter much. She recognizes her as the girl from the clutching party and allows a heavy sigh to escape. The other occupants of the bar garner her attention as well, but for the moment she needs to focus. "You can pour if you prefer, same bottle so you know I am not cheating you."

It takes a moment for Taikrin to recognize Rhaelyn; after all, she wasn't terribly sober that night. Her expression turns thoughtful as she stares at the exile girl, lingering especially on the damage done to her face. She leans over to murmur something to her companions, gesturing at the pair of exiles at the contest table as she does so; clearly, she hasn't yet spotted Riorde.

One wicked smile is returned for another, Elgin's is half friendly and half, verging on, evil. "Oh, I don't intend to lose either. A bet may be the only way a boy can get a proper kiss out of you." He pulls the chair underneath him and settles himself at the table. "Let the judges pour, you for me, mine for yours..." He looks around with a smirk, he noticed the girl hadn't brought one but makes a show of it. "Oh, nevermind then. Rhaelyn can pour for us both...If she will." A gesture of asking to the other islander. "And, before we begin, what counts as the loss, falling out of the stool...expelling...what was already consumed or just flat out passing out?"

Lirienne shakes her head, as the two seem determined to follow through on this. Finding a booth to lean against, the coppertop settles in to watch - and to comment softly, "You're going to get awfully sick," to the duo.

Rhaelyn settles in behind Elgin and gives Nathalia a haughty smile, "Well, hello there." Still looking at the other woman she asks her fellow exile, "Are you -sure- she's worth the kiss just to drink the crazy-sauce?" She has pride in spades and so the mess of her face doesn't seem to be any concern to her. When Elgin assigns her for pouring duty, a sharp finger jabs his side, "Don't press your luck." But, she does pick up the bottle, waiting to hear just how far their drinking is going to go. "I think passing out. Although, if either of you sick up on me...." The threat lingers there as she looks around to see who else is in the room. Oh! Riorde. She smiles so sweetly in that direction, a sugary sweet, evil smile.

Nor has Riorde seen Taikrin. For the moment, the focus of her regard rests on Rhaelyn: a heavy, black look that isn't improved by her smile. For smile she does when Rhaelyn pitches one at her, a contemptuous mockery of a smile for her counterpart.

Nat thought about that a minute. "You are probably quite right about that." Or anybody to get a kiss out of her for that matter, but she does not voice the last bit. She glances up at Liri who's concern makes her smile sweetly. "I will only get sick If I misjudged him and don't drink enough water afterwards." If she did end up sick she knew she'd owe the healer one hell of an apology. Nathalia could already tell she wasn't going to like Rhaelyn, there was something about the smile she had thrown at the other woman that just didn't settle well. The insult however does not go without a reply. "Whether or not I am worth it, I doubt anyone here will be wishing to kiss you for quite a while, given the way you chase riders." She smiled equally sweet, but hers was a smile filled with poison.

It takes little prompting for Taikrin to follow Rhaelyn's gaze, out of idle curiosity if nothing else. And if she was not particularly concerned about the girl's black eyes, she is proportionally /very/ upset about the obvious damage to Riorde's. She manages to get half out of the booth, bellowing, "What--!" before her companions bodily pull her back down and shush her with muttered imprecations. Clearly heard from the groaning male, "I /knew/ this was a bad idea."

A manifestly unhappy look starts to settle on Liri's expression, as her gaze flits from person to person, the signs of damage being done. Turning towards Nat and Elgin to protest, her mouth clicks shut before the words escape. Slouching against the booth, at this point the apprentice just crosses her arms to watch. "Don't want either of you to get sick, honestly."

"Oh well, I'm not sure, Rhaelyn. I mean she very well could be. The only way to really find out if someone is worth a kiss, is to test it out." Elgin looks back at Rhaelyn with a chuckle, "And since I'm sure /we/ won't be trying it I'd like to see if Nathalia fits the bill." He can't hold back a slightly tickled smile as he's poked but his attention is drawn to Royre, to Rhaelyn, to Taikrin as she shouts across the room, and then he lets his eyes move between them all again. Something clicks in his mind and suddenly he's a little overly cheery. "Well, well ladies...I suppose we should get this underway. Yes?"

Rhaelyn can't hear Nathalia's thoughts, but she eyes the girl coldly and when the other finally does put voice to the words, she just barks out a dry laugh, "I am not the one selling out my kisses over a game." Rhae reminds her, followed by a sad 'tsktsking'. "So, if you fall out of your chair, you have a chance to scramble up and try another round?" She's pouring the liquid into the glasses not, the shout from the rider's area missed or else just ignored while she gets to the business of glass-filling. When the line is set up, she draws back, "Alright, drink."

Riorde catches enough of Nathalia's remark to Rhaelyn to look momentarily satisfied, vindicated. That flicker of pleasure dies quite suddenly as the shout from beyond Rhaelyn draws her attention, eyes growing wide with the surprise of seeing Taikrin as she's wrestled back into her seat. Rather obviously staring, Riorde pays next to no mind to the start of the contest, except to give the slightest tilt of her chin to indicate Rhaelyn, then the small gesture of her right fist knocking the other beneath her chin, the miming of a punch.

Nat's eyes flitted over to the brownrider who had stood and then was yanked down by her companions. She recognized the face, and felt an immediate pity that she hadn't had the chance to ask the woman to act as judge on her side. Then again Nathalia hadn't wanted a fight either, just a competition between friends. She gives an appreciative glance at Liri's words, but the smile on her lips is one of a woman quite used to fending for herself. "Promise I will do my best not to." She suppresses a chuckle at the boy's still bouncy attitude, at least there is someone in the room who's not on edge about the situation. Rhaelyn just gets a smile. "No all it takes for you is a drink, and a few complements." The words are quiet, and before anything else is said, Nat down's the first tumbler with ease, turning it upside-down with a grin on her face. "Yes as long as you can get it down your still in the game. " She smiles at Elgin, almost wickedly. "Can you keep up Islander? Don't go too hard on yourself, you will be scrubbing flagstones tomorrow morning." Her words are friendly and playful, she is actually enjoying herself for a change. She offers a grin to the onlookers.

Elgin lifts the glass to his mouth and throws his head back, the shot is taken with ease, "The easiest way to lose in war or love is to underestimate your opponent, smith." The words are said with a light tone, everyone else in the room may be tense, but he too is for once having a good time. "I hope your lips aren't chapped and that you've been practicing because you have may have met your match in drinking and kissing...But don't worry I'll wait till you wake up before I kiss you. I want you to remember it." Everyone else is ignored for now. "That's smoothe, what did you pour us Rhaeyln?"

Taikrin looks ready to do murder, though at least it'll be quiet murder-- despite the initial outburst, she seems reluctant to draw attention to herself. Her gaze remains locked on Riorde though, and a grim little smile forms when the meaning of the exile's gesturings becomes clear. Her head jerks, sharply, in a nod of approval, before her gaze is broken by her companion's urgent grab of her arm. There's a muted argument, with the greenrider gesturing towards the door while Taikrin shakes her head with dogged determination.

Insults from Nathalia don't charge Rhae up. There is a moment though that it looks like she might give the girl a face full of liquor right from the bottle. Somehow the bruise-faced exile holds steady and just smirks back at her. "Shut up and drink." When asked what she's pouring she makes a show of eyeing the label, "Like you'd know what's 'smooth' and not....I think this is Rot-Gut number 9." Sneaking a look over at Lirienne and smirks at the other judge. Another round is poured out, not allowing the contestants time for their booze to settle.

A faint, self-satisfied smile settles into place following Taikrin's nod. Riorde doesn't make a move to do anything besides communicate across the room in gaze and gesture, watching the apparent disagreement at the Glacier table intently, leaning forward an inch more. As for the drinking - she follows it absently, with the odd glance now and again, but it's clear her attention's elsewhere.

Lirienne, the unknowing judge! That said, while she keeps an eye on said contestants, she makes her way over towards Rhaelyn. "Uhm, that's not gonna do much more than make them pass out or sick up, right?" Despite being older, clearly Rhae's the more experienced.

It's not a disagreement that Taikrin is going to win, apparently. Within a few minutes, Taikrin is looking down and away like a sulky child... and then sliding out of the bench with the bluerider's hand wrapped firmly around her upper arm. She glares briefly at her friend, glances over to offer a sardonic smile to Riorde, and then is summarily frog-marched out of the bar. Whoops. Once she's gone, her remaining companion - the older greenrider - continues to stare curiously at Riorde.

Nathalia picks up a glass and almost sprays what she's drinking across the table as Elgin speaks. She gets it down and a choking laugh erupts, she can't decide if she's happy he's taking it so seriously or not, but he's at least keeping it entertaining. "No point in practicing for things that never happen." She grins. He's persistent she will give him that. She glances at Taikrin a moment before the little tunnel snake decides to fill another glass. "I am perfectly capable of drinking and conversing thank you for your concern." She smiles pleasantly but there is a cold look when Rhae looks over at Liri. Still, she picks up another glass and downs it more quickly, watching as the brownrider leaves. "Nah, so long as there's plenty of water involved after things should be fine, he'll puke before there's any /real/ danger." She explained.

Briefly, Riorde looks disappointed. Her gaze tracks the brownrider out before she glances at the remaining Glacier rider and with the lift of her eyebrows communicates some sort of 'what are you looking at?' question. Since Taikrin's not there to stare at anymore, Riorde takes reluctant interest in the contest. "How long is this gonna take?" Her mutter doesn't have a clear target.

Elgin is only trying to keep the peace, "Maybe not." He agrees with Rhaelyn, "Just trying to keep up the small talk." But his full attention is back on Nathalia, "What you don't understand..." He breaks in the middle of his sentence to shoot down the next drink. His head curls to the side and then unfurls with a, "Ahhh." The kind that of sound that exclaims both pain and pleasure, "is that you are really underestimating the competition. That has been the down fall of many a person, and from I've read of flights, the downfall of many a dragon too." Little attention is given to the leaving riders, Elgin as usual, is determined to keep it civil. Rhaelyn is given another grin, "Don't be so jealous that it isn't you that I wagered the kiss on." He tone is joking. "Of course, if it was us we'd probably kill each other before the end of the contest."

It's amusing really, that an older person asks the unschooled exile. Rhae is about to answer Lirienne when Nathalia blurts out and her eyes roll, "Why bother asking me? Your buddy there knows it all." h remarks in high spirits. However, she does add, "I think that it makes people crazy, but will these two really miss their minds? It could be a mercy for them perhaps." More rot-gut fills another round of glasses. While she's waiting for them to pick up the glasses again, her gaze drifts over to the departing rider and then back to Riorde, snickering quietly at the exile's sorrow. "You don't have to stay. You could follow her...Oh. No you can't." giggle giggle. For Elgin's remark of her jealousy? She smacks the back of his head with the flat of her hand.

The greenrider arches an eyebrow at Riorde in return, a hint of an amused smile playing on her face. She gestures eloquently for Riorde to turn back to the contest, whether the exile actually sees the gesture or not, then shifts enough to include Rhaelyn in her measuring stare.

Either following the greenrider's suggestion or under her own steam, Riorde turns her head enough to give the appearance of following the competition. Rather than respond hotly to Rhaelyn, Ri considers the other girl for a long moment -- or, more specifically, her nose. "Watch your back if I was you, tomorrow when they have us cleaning up carcasses from the feeding pens or whatever else it is," she says conversationally.

Well, when it comes to booze, it's best to ask the expert. In this case, the person pouring the drinks. "Yes, but she's already had, well, two drinks?" she points out, a bit of a red tide rushing in. There's a pause "... I've never heard drink makes people loose their mind. Sense, yes, but mind?"

Lirienne would be the one going to the expert.

Apparently the hall wasn't the only place to find haughty swine, save that here it seemed to center more around sows than boars. Nathalia has an appreciation for Elgin attempting to keep the peace but it's hard for the smith to feign kindness to one clearly undeserving of it. Three drinks in and she is starting to feel a slight warmth in her belly. As for the comment on minds Nat can't help but mutter about the value of at least /having/ an education. Whether or not anyone hears she glares at the girl who's intent on goading someone else. For the first time Nathalia really appraises Riorde, and offers a smile before Elgin speaks again, causing her to laugh. "Really now, who is underestimating whom?" She studies the boy again, and can't help but smiling. "I am certainly going to enjoy having my own assistant."

Elgin is also starting to feel a little more content with three drinks now settling in his stomach. He over hears part of the smiths mutter but lets it go besides a knowing lift of his eyebrow, there are lines to his easy-going way. The comment about minds receives a grin, he turns to appraise the two ladies behind him, "I may lose some of my inhabitions but I doubt that I would lose my mind..." He taps his head with his pointer-finger, as he turns back to Nathalia, still tapping. "I have never underestimated you! I find you to be a most worthy advisary...Except that you don't seem to understand that it is I who will be winning this litter wager. That is really your only fault."

With a pulped face like Rhae's wearing, being stared out is getting to be the usual. A lazy hand combs through her hair as she turns a shoulder to the greenrider staring her down. It's a curious look that she returns to Ri at her threat, eyebrow arching, "I'm terrified." And smiling. "I'm afraid I don't know one way or another. Senses, Mind. It makes people crazy, isn't that damange of the mind?" Rhae asks Lirienne while the two drink. Then it's more amber liquid splashing into the glasses for the next round.

Riorde just smiles back at Rhaelyn, at first tight and thin and then expanding into a toothier grin. "See you tomorrow." It sounds more like a threat than a goodbye as she slides out of her booth and heads for the exit.

Lirienne huhs quietly, then steps away from Rhaelyn, shaking her head a bit. Then sighing at the boasting, before she looks back at the offical judge. "Well, in that case, perhaps the drinks should come faster, if they have time to fli..ng comments at each other?" Any low-tide that had occured is reversed, as red sweeps up again at her own words.

"Slower's harder, you know," the greenrider calls towards the table; apparently she caught at least a part or Lirienne's comment. "Make them wait ten minutes between drinks, and then you'll see them fall all over each other. Much more entertaining." Her gaze cuts distractedly over to follow Riorde's exit, but she doesn't appear to care one way or another. "Didn't anyone tell you children how to do this?"

Nathalia appraised the row of glasses carefully, up to this point she'd been pacing herself, she calculated her opponent very carefully, before speaking. "I haven't met a male yet who could best me, and the Smith Hall was flooded with them." Well that wasn't entirely accurate. Her father was probably about the only person she couldn't out drink. She raises a thick eyebrow at Liri's pause in words, and was fairly sure that fling wasn't the word she had originally intended. That seemed to settle it, Nat went down the row of tumblers moving on once each, as if daring Rhae to keep up with the pouring. Her throat burned and the warmth in her stomach intensified a little. "too much talk, no action." She grinned impishly. She frowned at the rider, now knowing her plan had been outed.

"That may be true, but you've never tried me, that seems highly unfair." Elgin gives a look of mock hurt to the smith, still his mouth crinkles a little as she does the whole row. Liri is given a chuckle, even if it is just to distract himself from what he must do now. "What wrong with a little -flinging- of words. Flinging words never hurt anyone." His smirk is settled back on Nathalia, each glass is titled back, down the row, he doesn't pause, and his eyes stay focused on the girl in front of him. He slams the last glass down when he done, and as it hits the sound is louder than he expected. The look on his face says he knows he may be in over his head, though he hides it quickly. "Again." Is all that is offered, the boys gaze glazing over slightly.

"I missed that lesson in Boozecraft classses." Rhaelyn replies to the greenrider as she keeps fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "I think we have a handle on this though, it's only a friendly wager between these two." The thought of going slower to make it worse on them /is/ entertaining. So she does hesitate, making a show of turning over the glasses, allowing more time for their stomachs to marinate before the next round. The glasses are filled up as she rolls her eyes over Nathalia's braggery.

"Ah, a timed release. That sound make sense, given some medicine is put in distilled medicines," Liri murmurs, before looking up and offering a fleeting smile. "My apologies for the need to instruct - for I have to admit, I have never spoken to anyone on how to hold a drinking contest. Or even been to one."

/shards and shells/ Nat isn't happy now. Its only a matter of time before the alcohol starts taking effect and he's keeping an even pace. What the shell did she know about kissing any how, other than it was something to be avoided at all costs. A venomous glance at Rhae, but she takes a glass as its poured. She just has to out last him, but she hasn't been drinking water too like she normally does. "What the shells do I know about kissing or the like, ffttt I can't loosse. Don't know how to do any of that properly, and the work room they gave me is a sharding mess. Never tried anyone and I sure as Farnath don't plan to start now." She's getting louder now, and here come the obscenities.

"Bunch of children," the greenrider remarks with amusement. "Come down here next restday, and we'll show you a real contest." Still, she offers a casual bit of advice as she stands and moves to leave, "Make sure they have access to healers, after this, to make sure they don't get the blood poison. Have fun, kids."

Rhaelyn laughs, "Blood poison." For whatever raeson, that just tickles the exile pink. "Oh Fishbones and fornication. You two are so screwed." Another laugh and she waits for them to finish their line of drinks. "Thank you rider, I think I will come and watch the 'real' fun, with professionals." The real liver-killers. She smirks at Elgin as he flirts with her, "You don't need to. By the way, I think you made a suckass bet--since your lady here doesn't know about kissing." It's only when Elgin talks about a nap that she gets back to refilling their glasses, "Drink up! Neither of you look like passing out yet."

The rider was right of course, Nathalia hadn't quite been as confident as she pretended. Sure she could kick the tails of any of the guys back home, but Dragonriders were something else entirely. Nat waved a bar keep over with a pitcher of water to start damage control quickly, downing a couple glasses before she even /thought/ about picking up another of the rotgut. "I certainly don't need /lessons/" she could feel her head get a little fuzzy, but the water would at least help some. She glared at Rhaelyn, "Yes well I don't make habits of finding self confidence in other people's beds or at their expense." And there went the filter that Nat had worked so hard to achieve. "Not cheating, waiting for you to pass out." She grumbled.

"You're both getting a pitcher of water after this. Two, if one's needed to wake you up, I hope you realize." Because blood poisoning, and needing a healer afterwards? Is enough to make Liri fret, to the point where a bit of hair has made its way into her mouth.

"Water? Water!" Elgin doesn't know a whole lot about this, but it doesn't seem right. There is something horribly wrong here and he's not going to stand by and take it. Or he is going to stand. Elgin starts to stand, but half way up starts to look a little green and thinks better of it settling back into his chair. "You jusss...you juss...you just said you didn't know. I'm trying to be /nice/..." He takes another shot, no water, cause he's a /man/, and he half turn half falls in the direction of Rhaelyn, "Maaaayybbee...maybe it was a bad bet, but s'not like the one I /want/ to...to..to kissss me. Would." He grabs the other islanders hand, and his mouth opens to say something else, but instead his head rolls slowly to oneside, and then backward and finally crashes to the table.

Nat nodded at the healer, "Yes well I have been singularly stupid, I think maybe I did underestimate him." She whispered at Liri, and there he went. Nat wouldn't forget the words, she hadn't wanted to necessarily kiss anyone, but she also didn't like the thought of being a proxy for someone else. "Er Water, lots of it, I am going to be pissing like a runner beast. And ah, we have to try to carry him now to the healers don't we?" She looked a little unhappy at the idea. She was unsure how she felt about winning, but she did look quite relieved. She hoped he'd forgive her for the headache he'd have tomorrow.

Rhaelyn laughs again, head shaking slowly back and forth as the drinking girl's comment just draws up deeper amusement. Even though the 'judge' is taunting Nathalia, there's no love-lost on Elgin either for when he wavers, she smirks cruely at him and his soon-to-be downfall. When Elgin reaches out to her, her haughty features transform into horror, "oh -groosss-." There she is, the messy drunk Elgin gushing over her before head-desking. His hands still limp in hers as his body slumps over. "Well, it looks like you win Nathalia. Congratulations? YOu don't have to have him sucking your face. Hope you make him shovel out latrines while he's still hungover."

Rhaelyn adds haughtily, "I will make sure he gets to the healers." As though she doesn't trust the drunk girl to do it. "You just look after yourself."

"... boys." Because really, that about sums it up for Lirienne. Elgin gets a look, just to make sure he's still breathing, then she slumps a bit. "Probably - I haven't had to learn about blood poisoning yet." To Nat, "Lots of waters. Pitchers, and pitchers of it."

An icy glare was shot in Rhae's direction for the latrines comment. She obviously doesn't trust Rhae to look after the boy either. Especialy after her reaction to the fall. "Take this however you want, but /I/ look after my /friends/, and I take responsibility for /my/ actions." She's only in slightly better shape herself, but its obvious she won't let the issue go. She is after all responsible. Rhae has also proven to be quite the cruel little wherry too. She glances at Liri, the only other person so far in the room who has earned the title of 'friend' "Yeah that's the best treatment."

"oh /shut/ /up/." Rhaelyn says quietly to Nathalia. "I'm sick of your insults. I've had nothing but insults from you. All day. Give it a rest. You think I don't take responsability for my actions? You think I'm not a good person? Well boo-hoo, you drunk little know-it-all. You sit here and drink your sharding water. I'm taking Elgin to the healer. I can at least walk and see straight. Maybe -your- friend Lirienne should take care of you."

"H-hold it, ladies. I'm actually concerned about b-both contestants," Lirienne holds up her hands, pulling hair out of her mouth to protest. "Maybe both should g-go to the healers, just to make sure?"

Nat was intoxicated, and now furious. "I only returned what you dished out, If you have a problem with it don't open your mouth in the first place." She actually listens to Liri though and nods. "I want to at least see him to the healers, and then Liri I will drink as much water as you like.

Rhaelyn puts the bottle on the top of the table and leans over close to Nat, "I think you should think about who tossed out the first insult." Afterall, it was Nat who started baiting her. "I only asked Elgin if his choice in bets..." She shrugs and walks out, "Fucking asshole."

Lirienne reaches up to rub at the bridge of her nose, then shakes her head. "Healers first, fights s-second, please. I'll help with Elgin, given Nat can still walk." Sorta. In a drunken sort of way. And that's what she'll do. Even if it takes a while for insults to pass and the like.

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Logs:Sorry About Being a Drunk Jerk

2013-02-07T07:59:13Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin, Teris | where = Iskiveth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr | what = Taikrin comes grovelling to Teris after her misbehavior that ended with such trouble with ..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Teris
| where = Iskiveth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin comes grovelling to Teris after her misbehavior that ended with such trouble with the Weyrleader; the weyrwoman is thankfully forgiving. Then they get to gossip! And Taikrin gets to use the best bath of all baths!
| when = Evening, day 4, month 3, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.09
| quote = Perhaps you should consider having more sober time in general.
| weather =
| categories = Clutch 32
| mentions = K'del, Riorde
| ooc =
| icons = teris.jpg, taikrin.jpg
| log =

Iskiveth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

Turns of inclement weather and use have smoothed out niches here and there for a current occupant and perhaps a companion, on this slightly downward impressed ledge. Two poles have been staked into the stone, immovable, and are about a dragonlength apart. From one, a long piece of twine flaps about aimlessly with any careless breeze, and perhaps the two poles were supposed to be joined at one point. Nothing spectacular denotes the ledge itself, but the view it offers is one of the living caverns entrance a bit further to the north, as well as a glimpse of blue glimmer on the horizon of the Weyr lake.

----

Though they've been moved to a less-grueling sweep schedule in the last day, Taikrin and Szadath are still bone-weary when the latter drops onto Iskiveth's ledge. He's barely able to summon up the strength to call out to the queen, << We're home, >> before wilting down into a crouch to let his rider dismount.

Iskiveth is curled up comfortably on her couch with her brass brazier flickering with fire nearby. Inside Teris has her own hearth blazing but her lifemate's warning brings the goldrider to look out on the ledge from inside as Iskiveth herself uncurls herself to warble a low greeting to the brown. << You look like awful, >> is her blunt addition. << Come share my fire. Just don't knock it over. >> She sounds like she's had experience doing that. Teris, however, remains silent.

<< We've been flying for hundreds and hundreds of klicks, >> Szadath retorts tiredly as he musters the energy to get to his feet once more and lumber inside towards Iskiveth. << If I knock it over I'll get firestone and make you a new one, >> he's quick to assure the queen. Taikrin is, at least, much quieter. She has the good grace to look embarrased - or maybe that flush is just windburn. Either way, she's tentative in her offering of, "Hey, Teris."

That doesn't seem to change Iskiveth's opinion and she doesn't comment on him knocking it over again as Szadath moves closer to join her near the brazier. "Taikrin," returns Teris, her tone all politeness with only an underlying hint of tension. "Is there something I can help you with?" she wonders after glancing between Iskiveth and Szadath. Clearly the gold didn't consult her on whether or not the brownpair could stay for more than a few moments.

"I, uh." Taikrin pulls off her riding helmet, then proceeds to turn it over and over in her hands in a rare show of nervousness. "Just... well. Reckoned I should probably stop by and apologize, you know?" As Szadath settles in besides Iskiveth (very careful indeed of the fire), Taikrin hesitates, then adds, "For the other day, I mean. Ain't had a chance 'til now, on account of the, uh, sweep duty." Endless, exhausting rotations on the most boring routes imaginable, around and around and around.

Teris is silent for several moments, letting Taikrin stand out on the ledge without a second thought before she finally asks, "Is that your apology? I can't really say I expected that much. So I appreciate it." Assuming that was the extent of the apology. The junior glances at the dragons once more, Iskiveth laying her head across Szadath's shoulders, then she turns to head back into her weyr. The assumption would be that Taikrin can probably follow if she wishes.

"No, I mean-- I got more, if you want to hear it." The ghost of Taikrin's crooked smile appears as she goes on. "About how I was bein' a shardin' moron, and shouldn't'a dragged you into it. Had a good what, sevenday to think about it? So I reckon I can go on for a pretty long time." And follow she does, yammering a little nervously all the while. Poor Szadath; the brown is nearly asleep, despite his best efforts to stay away and regale Iskiveth with the most exciting part of his sweeps (they saw four sheep, but they ran away and hid in a cave). "Been... kind of a crappy coupl'a sevens."

There's no interruption from Teris. She's all too happy, if that's the right word, to hear Taikrin go on at length with her apology. "You do have a tendency to rub people the wrong way, don't you." Not a question. "But I know how you can be well enough at this point. I can take some blame for not just punching you in the mouth right away." She /sounds/ serious, but once she turns back toward the brownrider, there's a small grin threatening to break her cool expression.

"What can I say, it's a talent. Gotta play to my strengths, yeah?" Taikrin looks heartened by Teris' nearly-smile, and some of the nervous tension goes out of her thin frame. "Would'a got my attention, at least. 'Course then I might'a thought you were flirtin, and then Faranth knows where we might be." She leans back against the nearest vertical surface, unable to suppress a groan. "I don't even-- I don't know how this all /happened/, you know? It's like everything's so out'a hand."

"Always a good thing to do. Assuming your strengths don't make everyone else around you want to knock you upside the head." Which might be a hint that Teris thinks a few of Taikrin's strengths do just that. "You should know better than to drink during something like that," she scolds, moving to settle into where she must have been sitting by the hearth when Szadath landed on the ledge. "At least to that extent. I know K'del is infuriating, but it's usually just best to pretend he doesn't exist."

"Didn't actually intend to /go/, but it kind of seemed like a good idea, after I had a few." Poor Taikrin. Getting drunk, then getting stupid. "He's just--- he's got it out for me. I know he does. Tryin' to get us in trouble, or-- or-- /sent away/." She probably doesn't mean transferred, either. "Did you hear about what he did? With my-- with Riorde? And now she's got some kinda shiner on her face, like someone hit her, and-- it ain't /fair/."

"I think you might be more paranoid than you really need to be, Taikrin. He can be an idiot but I doubt he's trying to get you sent off. If he wanted you gone, really wanted you gone, he'd have transferred you as soon as you'd graduated. Or even after Szadath caught Iskiveth. But he hasn't." Teris, so reasonable. Or something. "What did he do with Riorde?" she asks, not saying whether or not she's heard anything. It's possible that she only wants to know Taikrin's take.

"It ain't paranoid if he's really out to get me," Taikrin shoots back, though without rancor. "If he transferred us away, then he wouldn't be able to punish us anymore." It makes sense in the brownrider's head, anyways! "I don't /know/. I ain't allowed to see her, or ask after her, or any of the other islanders, neither. But she /looked/ beat up, when I caught sight earlier. He must'a done /something/ awful." She thumps a fist against the rock behind her, then sighs; she hasn't the energy to maintain any decent sort of anger. "Did he say anythin' to you?"

"I don't think he's smart enough to go through that much trouble just to be able to punish you," says Teris, blue eyes looking into the fire of the hearth before she reaches for the folder of hides that she'd left on the table next to her seat when she went to her ledge. "I heard that there'd been some sort of problem in the galleries." An explanation for the possibility of bruises. "I have a hard time believing that K'del would hit a girl, if that's what you're getting. I haven't spoken to him personally, though." She says it all while she opens the folder and flips through a few of the hides.

Taikrin thumps her fist against the wall a few more times, though it seems an idle motion. "I... I reckon you might be right on that count," she admits ruefully. Pushing away from the wall, she moves to sprawl bonelessly by the fire. "Problem in the galleries? I didn't hear nothin' about that, but-- we ain't exactly had much time back in the Weyr, lately. I don't know if he hit her, or got rough with her, or told someone who got rought with her, or-- or had some /goon/ do it, or-- Faranth, I dunno. I just-- I wanted to show her a good /time/. She was... kinda sad. Wanted to cheer her up. Thought we were doin' a /good/ thing."

"/Listen/ to yourself, Taikrin. K'del may be an incompetent idiot but he's just... not that sort of person. I don't know the details of what happened. I heard something about an egg being damaged and now the islanders aren't allowed into the galleries." Obviously, Teris should be a lot more nosy than she is. Then she might have actual information from time to time. "Of course, no one has asked me what /I/ think of any of this." Coordinator or not. Never mind that she's mostly just told other people how to deal with the islanders.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." Taikrin shifts semi-upright, resting her chin on her knees then covering her head with her arms. "It-- it makes sense when /you/ say it. Me an' Szad-- maybe we been overthinking it, a little. We had a lot of time by ourselves, lately. Sober time." Which, in the last six months, hasn't actually happened all that often. It takes a while for that bit about the eggs to register; she picks her head back up to stare dumbly at Teris. "The islanders damaged an egg? What the shells? How did-- why'd Iovniath let 'em out on the sands?"

"Perhaps you should consider having more sober time in general," suggests Teris, sighing before she closes the folder again and turns her attention more fully on Taikrin like she's just decided that she can't both work and have a conversation with the brownrider at the same time. At least Taikrin won! "I have my doubts. I imagine if there was any actual damage that there would have been a considerably more... volatile reaction than simply banning them from the galleries."

"That's what F'rint said." The brownrider doesn't seem terribly pleased to admit it: there's a flush in her pale cheeks beyond mere windburn. "I don't get it. Did someone-- I mean, what /happened/? Shells. Anyone see who it was? Or what was goin' on?" Because Taikrin has a very, very bad feeling about this. "Ain't nobody told them on how they're supposed to behave around clutchin' queens? I thought they were supposed to be havin' lessons on that."

That last comment makes Teris shoot a sour look at Taikrin. But she can't be too upset about that since, well, it's true that they should have known better. And that's possibly in the realm of maybe being partly sort of her fault. Maybe. "They will be now. At least the ones that are young enough to be Searched. I think that banning them might be a little drastic. They should at least be able to go with supervision. I'm not sure who it was exactly. They all sort of look the same." At least she admits it. "But I'd imagine your Riorde was at least one of them." There's a slight emphasis on the 'your' and a noticeable arch in one thin brow.

Taikrin flushes at that look, lowering her gaze down and away as if Teris were rebuking /her/. "Well, I reckon maybe one or two might be good enough to go to the eggs, but-- what about all the rest of 'em? There's a whole herd of 'em down there in the barracks right now, and-- what do you mean mine, anyways? What do you know?" Taikrin gets a little suspicious at Teris' emphasis, her gaze sharpening notably. "Did someone say somethin'?"

"I'm not an idiot, Taikrin." So there. "Besides, you're the one that said it." Teris didn't miss the slip earlier. "So tell me. What would someone say if they were going to say something about you and Riorde to me, hmm?" She's all curious now, though is doesn't manage to make her look as though she's going to go gossiping about it. Teris is much more prone to hang onto information until it suits her not to, after all. "The rest of them won't stand," is the easy answer to the other question.

"No no no--" Taikrin waves her hand in the air, as if to dispel Teris' comment. "I don't care about /that/. Faranth, I figured you knew; ain't like what we were doin' in the Snowasis was a secret. I mean-- what did you hear about /her/ that makes you think /she/ was involved in whatever happened in the galleries?" She gets to her feet, only to flop down in a chair proper across from Teris. "What's he got in mind in that sneaky little pin head of his for 'em, anyways? Not lettin' 'em leave the Weyr, this business with them supposedly doin' somethin' dumb in the galleries..."

The look that Teris gives Taikrin for several moments makes it pretty clear that she has no idea what happened in the Snowasis. Maybe she /should/ gossip. She glances toward the fire again and shakes her head. "I have no idea what he has in mind. I just figured Riorde was there because of the... you said black eye or something didn't you?" If not, that's apparently what Teris decided had happened. "Shards, Tiriana is liable enough to hand those out. Maybe it was her." The junior sighs and sinks a bit lower into her chair, which is at least rather comfortable.

Taikrin tilts her head backwards, until she can rest her beck on the back of the chair. "I dunno who did it. This other snake of an island girl looked pretty shardin' worked over, too," she admits. "Might'a done it to each other. I got the feelin' the other girl might'a been workin' for the Weyrleader, but-- I dunno. Not sure if that makes sense, either. Faranth, I'm tired. Ain't thinkin' right." She covers her eyes with an arm, and lets out a sigh to match Teris'. "Maybe the Weyrwoman gave 'em out to both of 'em. Only-- is she up and walkin' around, yet? After poppin' out another one?"

"To be honest, I haven't been leaving my weyr all the much. At least not when I don't have to." Because no one has noticed that, right? Teris returns her gaze to Taikrin and watches her quietly for a few moments. "I don't know if she's up and around yet. Or if she was then," she murmurs. Then, "You can stay here if you want. At least while Szadath is out. Or take a soak in my bath even." She waves a hand as though she doesn't care either way.

"Really?" When Taikrin picks her head back up, it's to beam a genuinely grateful - albiet tired - smile at Teris. "That'd be-- really great. Got another two sevens of the early double-sweeps. It's hard on him; I feel bad. Like I ain't takin' as good of care as I should be, you know?" Beat. "Or you, I guess. You're spendin' too much time in here, by yourself; when I'm off these shardin' sweeps, we ought to go somewhere. You know? Somethin' fun."

"I'm sure he doesn't feel that way." Teris grins as she adds, "Though I imagine he's not super thrilled for being punished along with you. If I thought we could get away with it, Iskiveth and I could join you one day." But, well, yeah. "I'm fine in here. I get out sometimes. It's not like I get my food delivered or anything." Honest! "But going somewhere might be nice."

"He's being--- a good sport about it, I guess. Doesn't understand why it should be this big fuss over 'just a green', if you know what I mean?" Taikrin's smile morphs into a matching grin. "Who's gonna say anything to Iskiveth? Iovniath and Cadejoth're too busy protecting their eggs from dangerous exiles, ain't they?" Proudly - and a little teasingly - she adds, "Szad and Iskiveth didn't let anyone go runnin' about breakin' /their/ eggs. But-- wherever you want. We'll go. Get away from the snow, maybe go terrorize some holders? Throw our weight around?" Well, mostly Teris' weight as a goldrider. But still!

"Looking back, I'm a little surprised that /they/ didn't break their eggs." The comment draws an unusually affectionate smile from Teris, though it fades when she refocuses on Taikrin. "I suppose I could always say that I'm making sure you aren't doing anything funny. Iskiveth could probably use the exercise." A wry quirk of her lips for that. "We can talk about it again once you're done, hmm?" Teris pushes herself up out of her seat as she offers, "Why don't you go take a soak or a nap or something. Iskiveth says her fire is getting too small." So, obviously, Teris needs to go fix it.

"Break their eggs? Pff. They're way too awesome for that. Forget about 'em, maybe. Break 'em? Never." The brownrider stretches her arms above her head with a groan, looking up at Teris with a lopsided grin. "Sure, no problem. Wake Szad up if you want somethin' big, I'm sure he can scrounge up some firestone. He's getting good at finding little rocks nobody notices, y'know?" To make fire for Iskiveth's amusement, of course. "Thanks, Teris." And she /will/ use that bath, oh yes. She will use it until she can't possibly stay awake another minute (but probably she won't drown, since that would be an ignominious end).

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Logs:Clutchmates are Awesome

2013-02-07T07:53:14Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin, Warucori | where = Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr | what = Zaxameth and Warucori are another breath of fresh air for an exhausted Taikrin and Szadath..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Warucori
| where = Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Zaxameth and Warucori are another breath of fresh air for an exhausted Taikrin and Szadath. Nothing like your clutchmates to raise your spirits!
| when = Early evening, day 7, month 3, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.10
| quote = So, do you think K'del is more mad that you ran your mouth? Or that you had more fun than he's having?
| weather = A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today.
| categories =
| mentions = K'del, Riorde
| ooc =
| icons = warucori.jpg, taikrin_joy.jpg
| log =

It is a winter dusk, 17:52 of day 7, month 3, turn 26 of Interval 10.

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth's thoughts swirl in with velvety twinkles of blue and purples, << Clutch brother! >> Cheerful as a trio of struck bells.

Dragon> Exhaustion has muted Szadath's normally robust mindvoice, until it mostly just resembles someone shouting down a long, echoey hall. << Brother, >> he acknowledges. << What's the word? >> (Szadath to Zaxameth)

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth's enthusiasm blasts right over the tired notes in the brown's mind, like a fuzzy warm hug and a clap on the shoulder, << It is search time! We should search. Together. Right now. >> Because searching is his game and this game comes so rarely. << I've got to get a load of good ones. More than last time.>> It's only after he's blazed along a moment that he reflects on the other's mood, << What's wrong?>>

Dragon> To Zaxameth, Szadath doesn't wince away from the blast, precisely, so much as his mental presence attenuates further down that hallway. << Search, for candidates? >> The way he turns the idea over and over would imply that it's not something he's given a lot of thought to. << Just got back from sweeps. >> And while he doesn't /say/ punishment sweeps, the sensation of flying endless circles over the same quadrant of land implies as much.

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth projects, << Oh, there is dis-a-pointment when Szadath backs of, but nevermind, he bowls forward cheerfully, << Of course. >> Images of white-roped goodness. With the sort of night-before-christmasy feeling in it. LIkt packages that need to be unwrapped for the little-ones. He might as well be humming holiday tunes too. << What happened? >> Finaly. At last, his bubbliness tones down, << Mine says an egg was hurt. Was an egg hurt? Is that why you're on long sweeps? >> >>

Dragon> To Zaxameth, Szadath projects, << Hurt an egg? Iskiveth said so, too. We weren't here when it happened. >> Which is Szadath's way of saying that no, it wasn't his fault. << We took out a female for a mating flight, but we did not have permission to fly her. >> He adds an image of his rider and another girl on a southern beach, with a dash of salacious feeling thrown in for the enjoyment of his brother. << We cannot have her back until we finish our sweeps. >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth gasps, in that mind-voice, << We have to *ask* now??!! >> His world reels. << For every one? >> Hey, he's going to lean in and admire the 'view', sensations at all with a brotherly mental nudge to the brown, but his concern is a tightening ball. << This will be...complicated for us. >> And then, disgusted, << That just isn't right!>>

Dragon> To Zaxameth, Szadath withholds comment for a moment, amusement bubbling ice-cold just beneath the surface of his thoughts, before he relents. << No, only for the special ones. From that place. >> An image of the island, barren and tiny and crawling with dot-sized exiles. << The rest are still safe for catching, if you are fast enough. >> He even offers that beach image up for inspection again, as mollification for teasing his clutch-brother so.

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth gives a mental shove for nearly giving him a heart attack, << You.... My rider would be *very* upset if this new rule broke up our mating flights. >> He shares a rather lewd little snippet from an brazing Igen platue. Fair is fair right? << The mate of mine is chasing one of those from the *island* >> There is amusement there, deep as the ocean and churning with laughter. << We will not help them though. That is his game. >>

Dragon> All curiosity about the exiles, Szadath only pays cursory attention to the Igen-image. << Is he? Which one? He cannot chase ours, because it's not fair that we can't give chase too, yet.>> Glumly, << We can't chase /any/ of them. >> A cool wind brushes over Zaxameth's mind, skimming for surface thoughts. << Did you get to see one, yet? They're afraid of me. It's funny. >> (Szadath to Zaxameth)

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth tucks his image of Igen away like a naughty photograph, laughter rippling through him, << Which one is yours so we know? I do not fly against clutch brother, unless she is a fine female. >> There have been a few flights they've had to go head to head. The image of the exile his rider's mate is hunting is Rhaelyn, but almost in cartoon. The blue doesn't seem to care since his rider doesn't care. Instead he continues on, << We tried to save them from the island.>> His opinion of that is poor. << We can find some of them to stand for the eggs. We should look.>>

Dragon> To Zaxameth, Szadath turns the image of Rhaelyn over and over, even withdrawing somewhat as he shares the image with Taikrin as well. When he returns, it's with a racuous rumble of laughter. << This one and mine bicker like queens in season! >> He returns a clearer image of Riorde, still plucked from that day on the beach. << We /did/ save them. We brought them here, where they are safe and under our protection. >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth shares in the laughter, << Perhaps she needs a /good/ breeding to steady her. Mines says that one needs work. She flies very hard and fast.>> Very good sport from his point of view, puzzled why his rider isn't interested. Then, turning the image of Riorde over a few times, << If yours cannot chase the island ones, she should come chase the other ones. >> Always sport in chasing some tail. Keen on this, as ever, he is all cheerfulness, << Mine knows some very nice ones. >> Here's an image of a rather cute weaver journyman. << YOu know this one? She makes *soft* Clothes. And she is smells nice. Yours can fly others. To fill in the time. >> It makes perfect sense to him.

Dragon> To Zaxameth, Szadath can't help but agree. << I think she does; they all do better with a good breeding after a fast flight. >> Very good sport, indeed. << We've chased so many of the interesting ones already. >> he laments. << Taikrin wants to fly this one again, especially since The Leader says we cannot. >> Telling Szadath he couldn't do something has always been the best way to ensure that he would try his very best to do that very thing. << Have you chased that one? Does she fly well? >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth laments with and for his brother, << You will feel better once yours has her again then. You must catch some that you chase. >> Otherwise, this is not fun, he doesn't like the not-catching part. << We chased that one. Caught her! She is very flexible. Then she is embarassed and we must catch her all over again. >> The /best/ sort of sport. << When are you /done/ with sweeps? Can't you be done now so we can have *fun*? >> Someone to share some adventures with.

Dragon> A hum runs through Szadath's mind, excitement and intrigue banishing the worst of the exhaustion. << We will feel better, >> he agrees. << A good chase and better catch make everything right again. >> He shares, finally, an image of the panorama as seen from his ledge. << We finished. I come. >> Bone-deep exhaustion leaks across the link, whether deliberate or accidental, for his blue brother to share. << What fun are we having? >> (Szadath to Zaxameth)

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth comforts his poor tired brother with another mental pat on the back-ish. << We will chase some pretty tail. Then, there will be sweet-sweet love. >> There's amusement, but seriousness in that thread of thought. << If yours cannot have the islanders, we will hunt elsewhere.>> He tosses out a few random locations, some random faces that he knows are agreeable catches in his past. << What would YOU and yours like to do? You are the ones suffering. >>

Dragon> Apparently there's another hitch. << We... cannot leave the Weyr. We remain bound, save for sweeps, until The Leader says otherwise. Even for chases. >> Which puts a pretty heavy damper on Szadath's enthusiasm every time he remembers it. << We may not enjoy the Snowasis, either. >> Such a hard life they lead! (Szadath to Zaxameth)

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth reels again with all these restrictions. Restrictions, << That is not fair. >> A pause and then << Never fear! How about.....>> Zax, crafty litle blue that he is, and ever the match-maker, has plans, << We bring pretties to YOU! Or, the hot springs! >> Playful images of pretty people splashing in the warm water.

Dragon> To Zaxameth, Szadath remains fully in agreement, sharing freely of his irritation at the restrictions. << It's not fair. But we are not banished from the hot springs. >> Irritation shifts into intrigue. << You are always having the best ideas, brother. Mine might not be amenable, but I am happy to entertain. >>

Dragon> To Szadath, Zaxameth puffs up in pride, << We do like to have fun. We have missed you and yours.>> stretching his memories back and back, he can't find one fun time together. Ah, but tonight he will make up for it!

Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.

At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.

----

Rather than reply, Szadath instead spirals lazily down towards the ground from his ledge, Taikrin strapped to his back. He doesn't backwing, but rather comes in hot, folding his wings at the last minute to more or less drop out of the sky in a jarring landing. << Brother! >>

Warucori squints up at Zaxameth as the blue sways back and forth rather excitedly, "What?" The tall bluerider looks puzzled, like she's having trouble understanding him. There's a nice rosey glow in her cheeks and it only gets worse when Szadath arrives with Taikrin, "Well, /that/ is a little short notice you know." The blue snorts over his shoulder before going to try to headbutt his brother. << Brother! >> Who can blame her for grinning along. "oh goodness me."

Szadath drops his head, putting the full force of his bulk behind meeting that headbutt, well, head-on. "Shells, Szad, cool it for a /second/!" Weariness has made Taikrin snappish; she nearly falls from the straps when the brown shuffles forward toward his brother. Scurrying down the rest of the straps, she rolls her eyes at the brown's antics, then turns to Warucori. "Hey, Cori. Heard you were lookin' for us?"

Zaxameth grunts at the impact from the larger dragon but flip-slaps with a wing cheerfully. This, of course, after Taikrin is out of range. "Hey! Long time no see." Much like her dragon she is excited and bounds forward to give the rider a hug. "I haven't seen you in -ages-. Zax says you need some company and some...distractions."

Roughhousing: Szadath's very favorite occupation (after chasing greens). He responds to the buffet in kind, then twists around to shoulder-check Zaxameth with considerable enthusiasm. Taikrin keeps a wary eye on the antics, but otherwise puts most of her attention on the bluerider - particularly once she's hugging her. "Seems like, don't it? Good of you guys; been havin' a long coupl'a sevens, me and Szad. How you two been?"

Warucori gives one more squeeze to Taikrin and then loops an arm around the woman, "That's a bunch of shit if you ask me. Want to have some punch and pie and talk about it?" Behind her, Zax growl like a hatchling, rolling onto his side at the heavy shoulder-check and nips at the brown's flank. "There might be another distraction or two. I want to hear all about this. Zax kept showing me some...pornography." Not really but it's fun to tease.

Taikrin seems content with the contact; she even wraps an arm lower around Warucori's waist a moment later. "Sure as shells is a crock of shit. But what're ya gonna do, yeah?" Szadath rumbles like an earthquake, rearing up onto his hind legs at the nip and lashing his tail out towards the blue's shoulder in return. "It ain't /really/ so exciting to tell as I reckon Szad's made it out to be. Took the wrong girl down on a little trip south, an' it all came back to bite me in the ass." She doesn't seem the least bit perturbed by mention of pornography; indeed, a snort of laughter punctuates Warucori's very mention of it.

Warucori leans her head over so she can brush the side of her head against Taikrin's. Support. Sympathy. "It's been a long time since we got into 'trouble'." She corrects in a lower tone, "Unless you count our extra drills because Zax is always trying to put wind of someone's tail randomly." She tries to sound irritated, but the two of them are so much alike now, it's just not right. "Poor Taikrin. Guess you can't really pick when the right one surfaces huh?" Zaxameth snorts out at Szadath, taunting, but the tail that thumps his shoulder earns another grunt. Falling back the blue romps a short distance away to collect himself.

Szadath crouches down like a cat, tail lashing madly back and forth as his jaw opens up into a draconic grin. << Going to catch you! >> he taunts, as if he were still a five foot long weyrling. "I just wanted to screw a girl on a beach," Taikrin mock-wails, gesturing with her free hand to emphasize her plight. "That so much to ask, really? And then K'del had t'step in and get pissy, and then /you/ know how I like to run my mouth at him, and-- we been runnin' on punishment drills since the clutching."

Zaxameth blows and huffs and prances with his feet stomp-stomping to egg the brown on. "Goodness, they're like weyrlings!" Just as Zaxameth makes a darting run and dodge from the brown. LIke a game of tackle football and maybe the blue has the ball. Back to the rider's problem though, "That's just fucked up. Of course you want to have a nice go at the beach! I recommend the apple orchards at Nabol too. In spring, or right before harvest." She grins impishly. "So, do you think K'del is more mad that you ran your mouth? Or that you had more fun than he's having?"

"Apple orchards in Nabol?" Taikrin directs a bemused smile up at Warucori. "Shells, you really have been explorin', huh? Have to keep that one in mind." Szadath darts forward, his massive bulk not nearly as agile on the ground as the blue's, then attempts to swing around to grab after Zaxameth's tail. << Fast! >> The brownrider can't help but laugh. "Like to think it's that second one, you know? Jealous, and all. But who knows-- man's mind is twisty." Beat. "Got any exciting ones, lately, yourself?"

"I'm..." Cori chews at her lower lip, "Lets see, how does daddy put it? OH yes, A 'Sluuut'." SHe crinkles her noes, but really, she impressed so young and to /Cupid/...what girl has a chance? So, she doesn't look ashamed, or apologetic. "We don't hurt anyone though." She jumps as Zax yelps and his tail gets caught up. The blue folds in his wings and rolls over a couple times, growling. No harm done really, Cori turns back to Taikrin, "I don't think he's a poacher. Ya know?" There's a little laugh about what she's been up to lately, "Uuummm....I am totally head over heels for these bronzeriders at Igen. But, I also am sort of seeing this weaver Journywoman. And...Zev and I are moving in together." Complicated.

Warucori was meaning K'del not being the poacher. yup

"Hey, you like what you do. Reckon you're pretty good at it, too. If you ain't hurtin' anybody, it ain't nobody's business." Beat. "You see your dad much, these days?" This whole being a slut business is, well, something Taikrin is a little dismissive of. Even if she does kind of boggle at that last bit. "Shells, girl, dunno how you keep 'em all straight. I like my girls one at a time. Well. Maybe two at a time. And if Szad's catching greens, then that's another thing--" The brownrider grins crookedly through all this, completely ignoring Szadath's bellow of triumph. He lets go of the blue's tail almost immediately, cocking his head to study his last maneuver. << I can't do that; it squishes my wing. >>

"I figured my clutchmate would understand. I mean, even though you know what I was like back ... before." Cori grins and nods her head, "I go home and bring gifts for my sisters, the nieces and nephews. I just don't talk much about my lifestyle. They really like Zev. Helps that he's a crafter and he's been with me since before Zax." The bluerider nods in agreement, "Well, keep um straight....I don't see them all the time. Not really 'together'. Do you think you'll change your ways if you....and this girl work out? Too soon to ask?" Zaxemth grumbles at being defeated and head-bumps Szadath, << Benifit of being *small*. But, I don't get to catch Golds. >> Sulky.

"Well, yeah. I remember all too well-- poor little Cori, didn't know what's what. And then there's all of us, and our evil ways--" Taikrin teases back. More seriously, "I dunno. It wasn't even, like-- everyone's makin' this big deal about it. I didn't really think about it none. She was hot, and she was /willing/, so we did it. A coupl'a times. It's /not/, like, we were a regular thing. But she's--" The brownrider shrugs, not entirely comfortable, then topic-shifts. "You think livin' with Zev'd put a crimper on what you do? Or just make it easier? He ain't the makin'-babies type, is he?" This, Szadath can puff his chest out about. << They /are/ very different from greens. But that is a clever move. Do it again? >> So he can study the maneuver from a different angle.

Warucori laughs, "I would play the role of the poor abused little girl, but Zax makes life impossable when I do that. He has straying eyes. Makes it difficult to resist. But ok, I'm not trying too hard to fight it." She nods her head about the new exile girl in Taikrin's life, smiling. "I'm glad for you. I mean, just to have a good time. Some fun." As for her relationship with Zev? She smiles, "We have spent the past turn slowly moving into my weyr. Testing it out. He has his own wandering eyes. Ah, and babies? Yeah, he likes children. Going to be a daddy soon." Not that it seems to bother her, she actually sounds proud about it. Zaxameth flaps out his wings and then cups them asgainst his side, << You are lucky. >> He congratulates his brother for the gold-chasing ability. With an arch of his neck, he does another roll. It's quick, not much time with weight on those wing-joints.

"Yeah, he-- wait. What?" Startled, Taikrin draws back to peer critically at Warucori, particularly at her midsection. "You and he ain't-- havin' 'em /already/ are you? I didn't hear nothin' about you bein' on restricted duty!" Szadath, interest sated, settles back on his haunches. << I am good, >> he corrects idly. << Can you do the same thing in the air? Or maybe... in the water? It might impress the greens. You could change direction very quickly. >> Just like that, he slips from play-mode into tactics-mode.

Warucori runs a hand through her hair, adjusting one of the pins in her curls, "Well, I'm not the mother of his future kids." Yes, that's plural. "Yet I mean." The hand over her flat stomach pats it like she's had a good meal. "Danger of playing with fire you know. Children." Zaxameth Stretches, shaking some mud from his wings, << I can turn and dive...oh, and loop. I do not think greens are as impressed with moves in water as in air. Can you roll like that in the air?>>

Taikrin sags deliberately into Warucori, feigning mock exhaustion. "Bloody shells, Cori, don't scare me like that. You're too pretty a girl to waste your body makin' babies." That's the brownrider's view on the entire affair, anyways. "And it's somethin' I'm flaming well glad nobody's going to ask /me/ to do." Szadath shakes his wings out, testingly, then re-folds them. << Perhaps if I was very high. If I had Taikrin with me she might get hurt, though. I might-- >> And he's cut off as the brownrider calls over her shoulder, "Whatever you're about to do, don't even think about it. You're gonna hurt yourself."

Warucori pats Taikrin's shoulder and lays her head in again to touch with the brownrider's. "You make it sound like having babies sucks the life right out of you. As long as you eat good while you carry them it's alright. Not like back at the hold." A curious look takes in her clutchmate. "So, do you get home often? At all? I don't recall what your relationship was like with your family." The little blue hops in place with playful eagerness. "He wants to find his candidates so badly. It's worse than a green going up right under his nose."

"That's because it /does/," Taikrin insists, a little melodramatically. "Then you either gotta foster 'em off your Faranth help you suck 'em yourself, and before you know it there's a herd of knee-highs runnin' around gettin' in the way and you can't do /anything/ anymore." A sigh escapes her before she can continue. "Doin' alright. My littlest sister got herself apprenticed at Harper, and my other one's got herself a husband and a baby. Doin' okay for themselves, I guess. Don't get out there all that often. Ain't got time, seems like. Easier for them if I'm not around much, too." Szadath swivels his head towards the living caverns, as if he'd caught a scent. << How many do you think you will find for the eggs? Do you think there are good ones nearby? >>

Warucori laughs at Taikrin's pretty picture of motherhood and squeezes her, "That's downright barbaric." She winks, "Guess you're lucky it won't be happening to you. Stay away from those good looking boy greenriders!" Zaxameth tips his muzzle up into the air, << I smell -lots- of them. I need them to be closer. Got to have my eyes on them real close-like. That's how I picked the best ones last time.>> That should be fun for the exiles. The bluerider looks over as her lifemate trumpets eagerly, "I'm sorry...I really wanted to show you a fun time tonight. Hit on some folks...have a dance. But Zax wants me to call out a few people from the living cavern."

"Hah, right. Good-lookin' boy greenriders. More like, gotta keep Szad away from their greens. But-- that's okay. I ain't supposed to be even havin' any fun, I don't reckon, for another coupl'a sevens. Just have to muddle through somehow." Szadath returns his attention to Zaxameth, as if studying the blue's technique again. << I should see how you do it. So I can compare. Later! >> Because the brown's head is pulled towards Iskiveth's ledge, like iron to a lodestone. "See you later, Cori?"

Warucori draws away from Taikrin, "Still say it sucks but, at least you're not running transport for some stuffy holders." Oh yeah, from that face she's making, that was her last 'fun-run'. "Catch you later! Good catching up with you. Don't be a stranger." Zaxameth is already trotting eagerly off without even waiting.

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Logs:Taikrin Ran.

2013-02-07T07:47:07Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin | where = Weyr Bowl, High Reaches Weyr | what = Taikrin is no longer on punishment sweeps, but she has been forbidden her three favorite things: drinkin..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = Weyr Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin is no longer on punishment sweeps, but she has been forbidden her three favorite things: drinking, brawling, and whoring. Life is hard.
| when = Day 20, Month 3, Turn 26 of Interval 10.
| gamedate = 2011.07.15
| quote =
| weather =
| categories =
| mentions = Riorde, K'del
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin.jpg
| log =

Taikrin ran.

She wanted to punch someone. It didn't really matter who; anyone who looked at her crossways, who looked like they might have some fight in them, would do. She wanted to feel her blood singing, hear Szadath exulting in her mind at each blow, taste the happy exhaustion that came from beating your opponent to the ground.

She wanted a drink. She wanted to lose herself in the warm fuzziness of a glass of whiskey, in the roughhousing and revelry that grew up spontaneously around a table laden with pints of ale. She craved the feeling of invincibility, the sense of comradery from a table full of drunks, the lightness of heart that came when memories dimmed and receded.

Most of all, she wanted a fuck. Making love, having sex, screwing-- any of it was good. Mostly she craved the feeling of another naked body against hers, dominating and surrendering in turn. It set her blood afire better than any fistfight she'd ever been in, sent her higher than any alcohol she'd ever found.

But all of these things were denied her, and so Taikrin ran in endless loops around the bowl. She echoed the punishment Szadath himself had so recently been freed from, pushing herself around and around until she collapsed, trembling, and allowed Szadath to return her to the sanctity of her Weyr. It had been thus since they resumed normal duties, and would continue until she was freed from the dual burden of the Wingleader's and the Weyrleader's restrictions. Until she could once more find her sweet, sweet release.

Until then, Taikrin ran.

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Logs:Making Up For Lost Time

2013-02-07T07:44:20Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vignette. Taikrin caught up with Riorde after their forced separation ends.
| when = Day 27, Month 3, Turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.19
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32
| mentions = Riorde
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_szadath.jpg, taikrin_heart.jpg
| log =

It'd been so easy to pick up right where they'd left off, as if the intervening sevendays had never happened. All it took were a few cracks at the Weyrleader's reaction (''disbelieving: "Can you believe him? Guys what're feeling threatened always overreact so bad!"'') and her punishment (''snarky: "Like he was takin' my toys away or somethin'. Ain't got no respect for /people/."'')

She smiled, she flirted, she was herself at her most charming. The cooler she played it, the smoother things seemed to go... so she played it /very/ cool indeed (offhandedly: "Hope it didn't cause you too much trouble, all that attention. Reckon you're used to people payin' attention to you, though, lookin' like you do.") She couldn't let anyone see how much it had bothered her: not the Weyrleader, not Riorde, and not her wingmates who'd been guffawing behind her back. And so she told herself that the whole thing didn't matter, told the girl across from her that it was fine and this sort of thing happened, told everyone else that they'd been making a big deal about nothing. And after they had a good laugh at how silly the entire thing had been (''amused: "It was just the ocean. They think you were gonna steal it or somethin'?!"''), she lifted an eyebrow and leaned in and murmured something utterly inappropriate. By the end of the night, they were back to where they'd started, more or less (''huskily: "So we got a lot of lost time to be makin' up for..."'')

----------------------------------

<< Was catching your green as good as you hoped? It felt pretty awesome. >>

"... yeah. I missed this."

<< You feel better. >>

"Yeah, I do. You're right."

<< Well, maybe you should keep chasing her, then. >>

"So long as she's letting me catch."

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Logs:Making Up For Lost Time

2013-02-07T07:43:48Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin | where = High Reaches Weyr | what = Vignette. Taikrin caught up with Riorde after their forced separation ends. | when = Day 27, Month 3, Turn 26 of I..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin
| where = High Reaches Weyr
| what = Vignette. Taikrin caught up with Riorde after their forced separation ends.
| when = Day 27, Month 3, Turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.19
| quote =
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons =
| log =

It'd been so easy to pick up right where they'd left off, as if the intervening sevendays had never happened. All it took were a few cracks at the Weyrleader's reaction (''disbelieving: "Can you believe him? Guys what're feeling threatened always overreact so bad!"'') and her punishment (''snarky: "Like he was takin' my toys away or somethin'. Ain't got no respect for /people/."'')

She smiled, she flirted, she was herself at her most charming. The cooler she played it, the smoother things seemed to go... so she played it /very/ cool indeed (offhandedly: "Hope it didn't cause you too much trouble, all that attention. Reckon you're used to people payin' attention to you, though, lookin' like you do.") She couldn't let anyone see how much it had bothered her: not the Weyrleader, not Riorde, and not her wingmates who'd been guffawing behind her back. And so she told herself that the whole thing didn't matter, told the girl across from her that it was fine and this sort of thing happened, told everyone else that they'd been making a big deal about nothing. And after they had a good laugh at how silly the entire thing had been (''amused: "It was just the ocean. They think you were gonna steal it or somethin'?!"''), she lifted an eyebrow and leaned in and murmured something utterly inappropriate. By the end of the night, they were back to where they'd started, more or less (''huskily: "So we got a lot of lost time to be makin' up for..."'')

----------------------------------

<< Was catching your green as good as you hoped? It felt pretty awesome. >>

"... yeah. I missed this."

<< You feel better. >>

"Yeah, I do. You're right."

<< Well, maybe you should keep chasing her, then. >>

"So long as she's letting me catch."

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Logs:Definitely Probably Maybe Searched

2013-02-07T07:38:41Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Nathalia, Sibella, Rhaelyn, Taikrin | where = Living Cavern, HRW | what = Taikrin drags Nathalia, Sibella, and Rhaelyn out into the cold and rain because Szadat..."

{{ Log
| who = Nathalia, Sibella, Rhaelyn, Taikrin
| where = Living Cavern, HRW
| what = Taikrin drags Nathalia, Sibella, and Rhaelyn out into the cold and rain because Szadath's got a funny kind of feeling. Sibella, at least, leaves with a new knot for her trouble. Rhaelyn? She IS trouble.
| when = Evening, day 9, month 4, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.21
| quote = Oh, Nat, what sort of day this has been!
| weather = Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today.
| categories = Clutch 32
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_szadath.jpg, taikrin_smug.jpg, rhaelyn.jpg
| log =

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.

Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

----

"But you said you care for more children than most mothers..." Rhaelyn begins to defend herself and then just waves off a hand, "Doesn't matter anyway." As to impressing her friend? "Oh please...Thank you, but no thank you." At least there's an attempt at her being polite. And yes, for some reason, she looks amused, head shaking from side to side before she sips her wine.

Sibella and Nathalia sit at a table fairly far away from the hearth, lit not by the fire but by glows. Rhaelyn sits alone at a table near the fire, but is turned toward the other two women, apparently a part of the conversation there. It is late evening, a few hours after the usual dinner-time, and there are only a few others coming in and drifting out to and from a late meal. Sibella claps her hands in the delight she had previously considered expressing. "Oh, now you've got me all excited. Thank you, Nat, for making my ow-ow all bettah." She giggles - her baby voice is ridiculous - now a bit slap-happy after reeling from one emotion to another.

"Just shut up Rhae, before someone else messes that pretty face of yours." There is an Icy look from the smith, who is acting strangely calm, she's loosing that temper though. "Yes we get it, some of the shit that happens here would never happen on your precious little island, I'm sick of hearing it. I am sick of trying my shelling hardest to be kind to someone who has proven at every point they aren't deserving of it. Go back to whatever rock you crawled from." Nat takes a long sip from her mug. Fortunately Sibella's chipper attitude is helping the woman calm down before she does something she might regret. "Really Sibella, don't worry about it, the least I can do for someone I call a friend."

Out of the evening, dripping wet and irritated about it, strides Taikrin. She shakes herself like a dog just inside the doorway, scrubbing a hand through her short hair to remove some of the water, then scans the living cavern. Her gaze lingers on Rhaelyn, but she doesn't immediately head that way. Rather, she ducks into the kitchen and emerges a moment later with a meatroll and a mug of klah. Now in possession of her treasures, she plops down in one smooth motion in a chair at Rhaelyn's table and offers the exile girl a smile that's all teeth. "Rhaelyn, ain't it?" Her attention flicks towards Nathalia and Sibella, eyebrows twitching at their apparent agitation, then flicks back.

Rhaelyn stays turned around in her chair, her expression not changing as she sizes up Nathalia but gives a dramatic roll of her eyes. She even opens her mouth to unleash something more when her table is being invaded. Invaded! Turning around she watches toothy Taikrin, "You know I am." She says, Rhaelyn that is. She swirls the wine around in the glass, watching the brownrider cooly.

Sibella regards Nathalia with a mixture of awed respect and amusement. Now, /this/ was unexpected from what Sibella had thus far seen from the woman. Sibella looks back and forth from the two; Rhaelyn, the bitchy - seeming to Sibella - exile, and Nathalia, the quirky, apparently hot-tempered smith-gone-candidate. She shrugs, then gives Nat a dimpled grin. "I'm glad you call me a friend," she laughs, "I'd hate to have that lash you call a tongue aimed at me!" At Taikrin's entrance, she gives an absent wave, unsure as to how Taikrin's, er, personality might add to the atmosphere.

Watching the brownrider there is an odd quirk of Nat's brow as she plops herself down at Rhaelyn's table. The eyeroll is simply met with that cold stare, and the smith simply decides to Ignore the exile brat from that point on. Nat shrugs. "You were a friend to me when I needed one, I look after my friends." She takes another sip of Klah and just shrugs at the comment about having a sharp tongue, eying the scene in front of her with interest.

"Reckon I do at that," Taikrin concedes as her grin quirks wry. "You're a slippery a girl as I've seen. You'd think that you might be afraid of me or somethin'." Towards the end, though, the brownrider seems distracted: she glances over at Sibella and Nathalia again, with a frown. She makes an attempt to focus on her klah, taking a couple of gulps, before she sets the mug down with a thump and sighs heavily. "Faranth help me," she mutters. Louder, "Y'all're both candidates, right? Y'look familiar."

"I'm not afraid." Rhaelyn assures in as mild a tone as there ever was. "But I don't want to confuse you again." When the brownrider looks away to the other two her lips thin and she looks back over in that direction too, tossing icy blades in that stare.

Sibella decides quickly that her best course of action is to simply ignore the other pair in the living cavern, instead reaching over to fiddle a bit with some hair hanging down near Nathalia's temple. "Are you okay with the length of the hair here? I hope it doesn't get in the way, but it frames your face so well." Even as Nathalia seems distracted, Sibella just keeps to herself, reaching for the pitcher of klah set at the table and pouring herself a heaping dose.

"Candidate, yes." Nat offers with a shrug. Nat just laughs at the look Rhaelyn is throwing her direction. "Yes honestly it's perfect, kept out of the way all day today at southern." She grins allowing Sibella to act as a mild distraction. "Not to many holders there though. We had the run of the place." She laughs.

"Confuse-- what?" Apparently having trouble following the thread of the (short-lived) conversation, Taikrin frowns her confusion back to Rhaelyn. "I ain't confused; just wanted to make sure we had some things sorted out, like. Make sure /you/ know what's what. /You/ ain't a candidate too, are you?" Insistent, she gestures between Nathalia and Sibella. "Both of y'all?"

Turning back to Taikrin, the exile girl tries to straighten out the confusion, "Last time I tried to be nice to you, you insulted me. I can see what being friendly to you gains me. So?" A pause, "What?" Her nose crinkles at the implication that the brownrider is going to put her in order. "I haven't been picked out by a dragon. Yet." There's no mistake by her tone that she expects it to happen anytime now.
Rhaelyn pins her name to that.

Sibella chuckles sedately at Taikrin's slight confusion. Breaking her 'ignore' rule, she says to Taikrin, "No, dear, I'm not. Don't plan to be, anyway. Why? You hear somethin' I don't know about?" She gives an ironic grin, then continues the casual conversation with Nat. "Oh! Well, I've never been out of the Weyr, so... anything'd be new! Having the run of the whole place... it soudns lovely." Sibella hasn't had an 'alone day' in quite a good time, with the bustling crowd of the Weyr. Out of this reverie, she hears Rhaelyn's 'I can see what being friendly to you gains me.' and cannot /help/ but burst into raucous laughter at this. She covers her mouth, but this only muffles her giggles.

"So that's her game." Nat whispered more to herself than anyone. The smith nods thinking on it a moment. Before Sibella's giggle becomes infectious, Nat has to admit, Rhae's idea of friendly is quite hysterical. "Just me then I guess." She offers at Sibella's explanation to Taikrin.

At Sibella's first comment, Taikrin lets out a rough bark of laughter -- though it doesn't seem to be altogether kind. "Hear somethin' you don't know about-- you're flamin' right I do. She's all toothy grins again, particularly at Rhaelyn's assumption. "/Yet/, eh?" Food forgotten, she pushes back her chair and rises to her feet in a sharp motion. "Alright then. Seein' as how I'm the only one who's allowed to be hearin' voices that you can't, y'all're gonna have to listen to me. Y'see that rain out there?" She gestures towards the dark depressingness that is outside, "I want y'all to head on out. Candidate can come too, since she's-- you know, a candidate. Good baseline. Who searched you, girl?"

You'd expect Rhaelyn to be all dancing feet at the prospect to get put under the dragon's nose. But a look slides out towards the exit, the rain, the mud. She wraps her arms around herself and hunches down into her seat a little. It's no good though, her ambition is stronger than her good senes to stay warm and dry. Getting up she carefully pulls on the lovely fur coat she's been borrowing.

Sibella is now the one confused. The exile seems to know exactly what Taikrin's playing at, so why doesn't Sibella? Her look of utter beffudlement, apparent, Sibella stays in her seat, looking to Nathalia helplessly, since she's the 'candidate' in question.

"Zaxameth and Warucori" Nathalia offers with a shrug, scooping her shells into the bag they came out of. She stands, drawing to her full height, which isn't much comparatively. "Baseline?" She asks with a lift of her brow. "Come on Sibella, this should be really interesting." Nat heads out the door, not really minding the rain and the muck.

Nathalia heads to the bowl.
Nathalia has left.

----

You head to the bowl.

Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#250RJs)

The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.

Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.

Rhaelyn heads in from the living cavern.
Rhaelyn has arrived.

Sibella heads in from the living cavern.
Sibella has arrived.

Taikrin brightens perceptibly when Nathalia mentions her searchers. "Cori and Zax, huh? They do good work. Our clutchsiblings, you know? You'll do just fine." And lingers behind, to usher all of her victims outside-- she'll even make an attempt to reach down and pull Sibella by the arm; she seems quite intent on this. At least Szadath is crouched just beside the entrance, lambent eyes glowing blue in the darkness. The rain doesn't seem to bother the hulking brown in the least; he even half-extends a wing when Taikrin dashes outside for the brownrider to shelter under. "Okay! Good. Szad was tellin' me he thought one of y'all might be good for the eggs. Wasn't sure if he was just feelin' Zax's candidate or what, though, so-- gotta be sure. Check you over."

The silken furs are drawn about her more closely and she huddles into the cold. There's just the smallest shake of her head as she listens about Nathalia's search dragon and rider. There's even just the smallest frown when the already-candidate gets to step up first. Her arms crossed over her chest adjust rather primly as she watches.

Sibella gets a case of the shivers, although she'd had the foresight to grab her cloak from the back of her chair and throw it about her shoulders. Then, she starts to understand what Taikrin is doing. "Wait... no, Taikrin, you don't need /me/ here! I'm almost too old!" Despite her protest, Sibella actually allows Taikrin to pull her along, brows pinched in an anxious spasm. What if... Sibella again looks to Nathalia, helpless.

Nat grins, happy to have earned the Taikrin seal of approval apparently. "Thanks, that is good to hear." She offers in reply. She lifts a brow at the explanation, offering a grin. "Well glad to assist then." She resists sticking her tongue out at Rhaelyn's displeasure, but instead minds her manners. "Come on 'Bella, don't argue with a rider and a dragon, you almost never win, and if you do, it's a trap." She laughs.

"Almost too old? Eh, you don't have to tell nobody. I won't. Don't know as the hatchlings care, much." Taikrin pauses, looking to Szadath, who just rumbles noncommitally. "He don't think they do, neither." She pauses a moment, frowning, then slaps Szadath hard on the shoulder, "You wanted 'em out here, get to it!" The brown jolts himself out of his fixed stare, rumbling again, then proceeds to snake his head towards Natalia. It's not a threatening movement, exactly, but with his jaws parted in a gap-toothed draconic grin, it might be a little intimidating. In the meantime, Taikrin asks, "What're y'all's names, again? Don't know as how I caught 'em. Bad with names, me."

"Charming." Mutters Rhae at the tongue sticking out but manages not to try and trip anyone who passes by her to get to the dragon. She falls in line with the other two, not too close. "What is he, looking for exactly?" She cuts in on the introductions of the other, holding herself back from pushing her way forward but it's an effort.

Sibella smiles briefly at Nat's use of Sibella's nickname, which of course Nat has never heard. And her slap-happiness re-instills itself as Taikrin speaks to her. "Well... /almost./ But I'd hate to have a dragonet stuck with an old lady like me!" Even as Szadath regards them all, Sibella is drifitng back to another time, when she was much younger, standing before another dragon on Search... Then Rhae asks the crucial question, and Sibella snaps back to the present to hear the answer.

Nat just laughs at the dragon grin, returning it with a wide mischievous smile of her own. "Nat" she offers, quite unbothered by being so close to one of the large beasts, after all she'd spent most of the day around Zax. She eyes Rhaelyn with a measured glance, and offers a look of friendly encouragement for Sibella. "You're not that old for farnath's sake." She laughs.

"It's-- it's hard to give it words. Szad don't use 'em for this." Taikrin is caught off-guard enough by the question that she forgets to be mean and mocking, for a moment. "Kind of a feeling, like? He ain't the best at pickin' it out, but if there's more'n one together, I guess it's-- stronger?" She shakes her head, returning her attention to Szadath has he tilts his head this way and that at Natalia. He seems satisfied with something, because he lets out a low chuff then swings his head over towards Sibella and begins the process again while his rider narrates. "Sort of like... if you're standin' in a hallway tryin' to figure out what door someone's playin' music behind, or... where a smell's comin' from. He knows what's gettin' off-- Nat, yeah?-- so now he's checkin'."

"Really?" She watches the candidate get checked and it seems fine, her eyes narrowing slightly, "If one dragon says that he doesn't sense it, does that mean that person isn't a candidate? Maybe not high quality enough?" She's watching with interest at just how it's done. Hearing about it in classes is one thing, this is altogether different.

Sibella nods at Taikrin's comparison, then remembers that Taikrin had asked for names. "Oh, and I'm Sibella. Bella, like," Sibella mimics Taikrin's inflection on the last bit, aiming it toward Szadath as an introduction, more so than toward Taikrin. Of course, it's an unfortunate day to be in front of a Search dragon, Sibella thinks as she runs her hand through her dirty, weighted-down waves-that-were-ringlets.

Nat eyes Rhaelyn, but doesn't say much, instead she just watches the brown inspect Sibella.

From her nice, snug, dry spot under Szadath's wing, Taikrin watches the whole procedure with smug amusement. "Some're better at it than others," she acknowledges with a one-shouldered shrug: it's not her problem. Her gaze shifts towards Rhaelyn, studying the exile girl intently. "If a dragon can hear it from some in a set, but not others-- well, likely they don't have it right then. People can /change/-- someone who didn't have it at fifteen might have it at twenty, he thinks, or else the other way 'round. But..." In the meantime, Szadath swings his head towards Rhaelyn, grunts, then swings back to Sibella. He repeats the action a couple of times, then turns to rest his head by Taikrin, as if conferring. Even though the words themselves must be only in their heads, there is a significant amount of gesturing on Taikrin's part, and quite a lot of twitching and tail-lashings on the brown's.

Rhaelyn narrows her eyes at the grunting brown and sniffs right back at him for the effort. While she waits for what the final word might be, she adjusts her jacket and hunches in the rain that drizzles on down.

Sibella keeps her patience in control, even though she has a dimple twitching slightly each time the dragon makes a move. It could be her day! Well, the beginning of many days, which she hadn't dreamed of dreaming of. Sibella regards Rhaelyn, herself, trying to pretend that she doesn't notice the internal conversation between the lifemates. Rhaelyn is just the right age, and another exile on the Sands? That'd be bonus for the Weyr.

Nat listens to Taikrin's explanation. Surprised that the process seemed so different from her own search. She just shakes her head at Rhaelyn, not much to say about that one's actions really. She hoped she'd like the outcome, though from the amount of time it was taking, she wasn't sure she'd like the answer. Still she doesn't falter keeping that easy smile until the verdict is passed.

"... /trust me/." That last bit is audible as the pair break up, Taikrin crossing her arms over her chest and looking smug while Szadath looks, well, inscrutibly draconic. "Yeah, he was definitely feelin' the same thing." From the safety of under Szadath's wing, she looks from Sibella to Rhaelyn, then while still smiling her big, toothy grin at the exile, says, "Sibella, yeah? You can go and find one of the headwoman's assistants and tell her that Taikrin and Szadath want you to stand. Reckon your friend Nat here'll help you move your stuff? Y'should consider yourself lucky-- more'n three quarters of Szadath's candidates ended up with dragons, last time." While she seems genuinely pleased with herself and Sibella, there is something dirty in the smiles she keeps shooting at Rhaelyn.

Rhaelyn's reaction is a little too cold. Also, it's a little too unemotional. She regards the dragonrider and the smiles she keeps dishing out, also with a marked lack of response. Instead, she watches and calculates. First watching for the new candidate's response and then the old candidate's response. All the while she's not saying anything, but someone in that group might be feeling the hairs on the back of their neck standing up, mabye all of them, it's downright creepy. "Right." At last she meets Taikrin's eye, holding the gaze without smiling.

Blink. One. Blink. Two. Twice Sibella blinks before Sibella makes a move, and this is to wrap Taikrin up in a very comfy hug, and then to rub Szadath's jaw. "My thanks, love. I'll do my very best not to fail you." Or myself, she adds silently. To Nat, overjoyed but containing it very well now, she gives the broadest grin her features can muster. "Oh, Nat, what sort of day this has been! I can almost see a dragonet stumbling toward me to tell me that her name is Sivith." The grin softens into a smile, then Sibella grabs Nat's hand, saying, "Oh, you will help me move, won't you? I haven't seen the barracks in /ages/ and won't know where to go, now, with all the people there." Then, before Sibella can run off and start driving everyone insane with her gleeful screeches, she turns to Szadath and Taikrin, saying to both, "Thank you, both of you, for one last chance I never thought I'd have."

Nat offers a congratulatory grin to Sibella. "Well you heard the woman, let's go get you squared away." Still something about the whole thing leaves the smith uneasy as her eyes shift between Taikrin and the exile. "Well that's a bit of relief," she whispers aside to Sibella and Nat seems eager to play show the 'newbie' around for the second time this week. "Yeah, cot near mine is still empty." She offers still studying Taikrin and the brown with an unreadable expression. Finally she snaps out of it, "Right well, let's get you moved then." She offers a wave to the brown rider before heading off to help the older girl move.

"Sorry, Rhaelyn." If Taikrin is intimidated by the exile girl's stare, she doesn't show it; rather, she returns that gaze right back, look for look, and bares her teeth in a predatory smile. "Sometimes, you know, people change and then the dragons change their minds. Reckon I can give you some tips, if you're so inclined." It's probably a good thing Sibella appears with her huge, then, because it jolts Taikrin out of confrontation mode. "Flam-- uh, sure, no problem." The brownrider doesn't seem much inclined to return the hug, much to Szadath's amusement; for his part, the brown is relishing the attention. "The, uh, headwoman can help y'all out if somethin' comes up. I'll tell her you were helpin' out, Nat. Sure she'll appreciate it." See, she /can/ be nice. When it suits her.

"Save your breath." Rhaelyn says breazily as she turns back to the living cavern. "Congratulations." Is offered in parting and she heads back inside, eager to dry off and warm up.

As the pair move away, Sibella can be heard muttering something to Nat, controlling her volume even through her excitement, glancing back once more to look at Taikrin and Rhae.

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File:Icon taikrin violent.jpg

2013-02-07T07:27:29Z

Taikrin: case sensitivity is awful.

case sensitivity is awful.

Logs:Questionable Integrity

2013-02-07T07:26:00Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Warucori, Taikrin
| where = Bathing Caverns, HRW
| what = Warucori and Taikrin share some booze in the bathing caverns. Then things get heated... but probably not in the way that you're thinking.
| when = Late afternoon, day 2, month 5, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.27
| quote = What makes someone stand out to you? Big tits? Long legs?
| weather = A light rainfall patters on and off throughout the day, making everything slick and gray and muddy.
| categories = Clutch 31, Criminal Activity
| mentions = Jolie
| ooc =
| icons = Taikrin_violent.jpg
| log =

Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr

Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern. Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day. Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for easy pickup.

The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.

----

Szadath> Zaxameth lands and lets his rider go before flaunting his fresh new coat of oil..all Musk-Of-Betweeen-aftershave scented. He gives his clutchsibbling a look before scooting over to one of the greens lounging nearby. Hey baby.

Afternoon sees Taikrin fresh off of duty, and what's her first stop? Well, her weyr, to retrieve the silver flask she's got propped on the side of the bathing pool. But her /second/ stop was definitely the bathing caverns, where she's sprawled herself into the far pool and seems to be just, well, relaxing.

Szadath> Szadath is likewise sprawled in the muck of the bowl, as content to doze as his lifemate is to soak in the heat. He lifts his head briefly to rumble a greeting to Zaxameth, leaving it up long enough to watch him cozy up to his green before he snorts with amusement and lays it back down.

Afternoon sees Cori stumbling into the bathing caverns in her robe, dangling a flask from her fingers. She giggles on her way to the pool, robe falling off one oily shoulder. "Damn...dragons." The rest of the robe is shrugged out of and the blue rider leaves it strewn across the floor. Naked and oily, she gives Taikrin a wave with the flask, "Mine if I join you?" Even as she's splashing her way into the pool.

Szadath> Zaxameth has luck with the ladies, tonight at least. The green is only a couple turns old and still charmed by such lines as: 'Do you have a map? I just keep on getting lost in your eyes.' Soon he's cuddled up warm and cozy. Big brother might get the gold but, look who's toasty yo.

Taikrin cracks an eye open, then curls her lips upwards as she spots Warucori making her oily way into the caverns. She salutes with her own flask, then takes a pull from it before gesturing the bluerider on in. "Sure, sure, c'mon in. Plenty of room, water's good and warm. Been havin' a good time, huh? Oil from Zax, or some kinda awesome oil party?"

Warucori takes a long pull off the skin and dangles it towards Taikrin. Not a good idea to mix poisons, but when has that stopped anyone from having a good time? "Oh, started out innocent enough...got out of hand. Don't think I'd call it a 'party' though." Her eyes sparkle with cheerfulness. "We could do that though. Dragon oiling and mixed company is much more fun." A quick look around, expecting to see someone with the brownrider. "How are you doing?"

"Not a party, huh." Taikrin takes the skin happily, offering her own flask of whiskey in its place. "Sounds like it could be fun," she adds, though it's with a laid-back enthusiasm. "'M doin' alright. Just got off sweeps - had the Tillek run, today. Not a bad day for it. You? Aside from your, uh, oiling adventure."

Warucori accepts the whiskey with a bob of her head at the trade off and has a small swig. "We had drills from the Red Star this morning. Someone did something, or said something...stupid wing politics." A passing scowl at the memory of it. "But, day has rounded the corner I think. Evening ALL to myself." She sneaks another sip of the flask and offers it back. "Did you celibrate end of your dry spell?"

After a long pull from the skin, Taikrin is happy to exchange it for her own flash. "Drills, huh. Woulda rather done those, I think. /Awful/ tired of doin' sweeps, me." She quirks a crooked grin at that, shifting forward to better facilitate conversation. "Y'might say that. She was still ready to go, even after that whole cluster. Makin' the most of it, y'know? Thinkin' it'll be a good time to take her out to the gather. Maybe we can sneak off and defile a Holder's bed, yeah?"

"Good! Oh I'm so happy to hear that Taikrin! At least someone's getting something out of this whole exile mess." Warucori gives a wink, "And you are so -bad-. You should, Lord Holder's bed. And you know," Here there's just enough pause for the girl to glance around to make sure now busybodies are listening, "Bet no one is going to be watching them that close." The exiles. "Too bad none of them have fallen into my lap. So to speak."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how it goes. Sure has caused me a flaming lot of grief, so far." Taikrin makes a face, then tips her head back to drink more -- because that way she doesn't have to think about it so much! Then, "Reckon you could if you looked at one the right way. Coupl'a the younger boys look like easy pickins, the way I seen 'em takin' up drinking and stuff. Get one young, you can train him up however you like?" There's a gleam in Taikrin's eye, and her eyebrows waggle teasingly. "Doubt they've even run into someone like you before. Bet you could have 'em eating out of your hand in no time."

Warucori looks encouraged by her clutchmate's suggestion, "Yeah?" There's a bit of hesitation before she says, "I tried to put the moves on that Tomaerna guy. Is that his name? Anyway, I think maybe he likes boys. Didn't get -anywhere-. Still, maybe shouldn't give up so quickly, I do like the idea of training. I have a nice new weyr, lots of room. Bet the weyrleaders wouldn't care if I had a kept boy right?" Half in joke, right? "Oh and poor Zev...that girl he's chasing."

"Hey, it ain't like you wouldn't let him leave if he /really/ begged nice, right? Y'don't even got to lock him up, because where's he gonna go from your weyr?" Oh Taikrin. She's probably just kidding, though sometimes it's hard to tell with her. "Don't know most of the names of their guys, honestly. Which one was Zev after, again? Wasn't it that crazy one who keeps tryin' to fight people?"

Warucori nods her head, sips wine, nods again, "Right. I'd just be doing my part getting them transitioned to the weyrlifestyle. Right? That's what they want us to do?" Giggling at the idea of trapping one of them. Understanding follows the comment about not following the guys, "I'm no better, I hardly catch their names. Oh, Zev has the hots for Rhaelyn. You won't think it's awful that I'm trying to help him catch her will you? Maybe it'd mellow her out. Don't know about the fighting but my candidate doesn't have good things to say about her."

"I don't like her. You should pick a different one." From teasing to curt in 0.2 seconds flat. But Taikrin /is/ serious, on that last one. "Don't like her type. Szad thought she might be good for the eggs, but I don't think so. I mean, she nearly /busted one open/, didn't she? There's plenty of cute ones to pick from. You should steer him towards, like, that little redheaded one? Or there were a couple of the blonds that were cute, and seemed, y'know, pliant."

"Taikrin." Warucori sounds shocked, blinking at the brownrider, "You can't just...pick and choose like that." Candidate-picking. "Zax would have my dangling by a leg if I didn't accept his picks. Even if I don't like some of them." Of course the bluerider's dislike isn't really on the same level. "But...did she? SHE was the one? I thought there were three of them." Rumors right? Cori frowns and shrugs, "Zev likes the challenge. Don't think it's my place to talk him out of who he wants to fuck. So long as I don't have to be in the mix. Like my lovers warm, snuggly and squirmy personally." She pokes Taikrin with her foot under the water with a smile.

"Well, why not? Someone's got to protect the eggs, otherwise they're just gonna end up pickin' whoever gets in their way. So long as there's plenty of others, they'll be fine." There's not even a whisker of doubt in Taikrin about this; it's almost as if she's speaking from experience. "Riorde says it was her fault, an' I believe her. Girl straight-out attacked me last month. She's crazy." But she shrugs too, and quirks a half-smile in response to Cori's nudge. "Don't know about the squirmy part, but-- warm sure as shells helps."

"Would you rather the little one bang him or herself up and maybe damage themselves getting to the person they want? Like when we were on the sands. Remember?" Warucori frowns, worried. "Oh Taikrin, of course you believe your -lover-." She has another drink of the wine and wipes her lips with the back of her hand afterwards. "I don't like it Taikrin. What if...a dragon changed her, for the better?" It certainly changed Cori. "Remember when we broke into ... what's her name....her footpress?"

"I /so/ doubt it'd come to that. I mean, shells, Rhabarith-- well, I guess there's no accounting for taste. I guess that ended out okay, but... gotta give 'em all the help we can, I reckon." Taikrin shrugs, clearly unconcerned. "An' what if a dragon made her worse? Ain't worth takin' the chance, I think." She is the queen of cognitive dissonance, apparently. "An' it was /you/ lot causin' trouble. I only wanted to stop Saliqa from--" And just like that, her jaw snaps shut, downs the remainder of the booze in her flask, and abruptly changes the topic. "Anyways, it was a long time ago. Don't think much about those days, me."

Warucori shakes her head, "It's not really -your- choice Taikrin. Just because your dragon sired one clutch and your going to be the one to pick and choose who -you- think should stand?" Good ol girl-scout Cori and now her poor little brain is troubled by this guilt-thing. "I can't believe your dragon didn't put up more of a fuss." It's not as easy for her to not think about it though. Still, she splashes at the brownrider, "My lot? Oh, I had the hots for the criminal boy. Oh, badboys...why must they be so hot?"

"Yeah. It is. Szadath trusts me. It ain't got nothin' to do with Iskiveth and her clutch and everything to do with how I /know what I'm doin'/. Faranth, you're soundin' like the Weyrleader. Guy riders have been bringing in chicks to search because they wanted to screw them since /forever/, and you're giving /me/ a hard time for not wanting to put a tunnelsnake of a girl on the sands?" Taikrin has progressed from unconcern to irritation; she tosses the empty flask towards her pile of discarded clothes, and pushes to her feet. "My drink's empty. Reckon I need to go fill it up."

Warucori's voice is firm, "It's not -right-." And, "It doesn't make this right you know, justifying what others do so you can feel better about breaking rules. It's a power trip same as theirs. Shards and shells, have your plaything on the sands, get her a green or shards, that gold out there. But no one should bend the rules just because they got their tail in a twist about some girl. This is wrong. And it's worse becuase you know it's wrong." She offers out her flask of wine though, "I hope it eats at you. If there is a dragon left on the sands that doesn't find his match. I hope it keeps you up at night."

"Shards, Cori, I thought you got over bein' a nice Holder girl," It's a low blow, and Taikrin knows it; her lips compress as she swishes out of the water and reaches for a towel and starts drying herself with more than necessary vigor. "It's the /right/ thing to do. It ain't about her, it's about her not bein' /good enough/. It ain't like I'm gonna make her stop if someone /else/ decides she's gotta be there, or, shells, if she /asks/. But /I/ won't be involved in puttin' a sneaky tunnelsnake on a dragon again." Again?

Warucori blows out a breath, "That's right, I am a -Dragonrider- Taikrin. Did you conviniently forget that you were too?" She watches the brownrder get up, frowning, "If it's not about her, what is it about then? It's about you. You want the power to decide? You are -that- power hungry? How does it feel huh? I thought I -knew- you." Disapointment hangs heavily and sadly in those words.

"Everything I do, I do it for the hatchlings. I don't care about some silly chit from the islands, and I don't care about what you think is /fair/ or whatever; you ain't even /listening/ anymore. You're just like them." Somewhat dry now, Taikrin struggles into her pants before spitting out, "Thought she was just some piece of ass your weyrmate was chasin' after? Why the shells do you care?"

Warucori's looks at a loss, head shaking back and forth, "I care because I have spend weeks and weeks on end flying on Zaxameth as he goes to one hold to another on some whim that someone might be worth standing for our clutch. He picks out these holders and I have to put up with their parents all but spitting on me as they mouth the words of 'duty' and 'honor' and I take their child away. All on the hope that they might be riders. And you--you sit here and tell me that you know better than the dragons. Why in the fuck are we even asking the dragons who to pick?" Her head shakes sadly, "I didn't say 'fair'. I said 'Right' and 'Wrong'. She is just some piece of ass Zev wants to play with, but if Zaxameth saw she was fit for the sands I wouldn't say otherwise. To anyone. I trust him." Her eyes narrow, something that was missed before in her shock, something tugging at her, "You...do this all the time when you search? Handpick who you want?" Such a girlscout.

Szadath> Zaxameth lifts his head from nuzzling the green and makes a low grumbling sound.

The first part of Taikrin's retort is muffled as she pulls her shirt layers over her head. "Well maybe you're doin' it wrong," is her somewhat sharp retort. "Ought to look closer to home, pick out more of the kids floating around the Weyr instead of digging through all the holds. Or are you just bored with the ones we got here?" Finally dressed, she dumps her flask in a pocket and puts her hands on her hips as she stares down at Warucori, her gaze cold. "Szadath knows if someone's got potential. Loads of people got potential. Don't mean they're a /good choice/. We don't let poeple who're knocked up or married stand. I'm just doin' the same thing. Only, this time I'm protectin' the /hatchlings/. Faranth, it's like /none/ of you people even think about them."

Szadath> Szadath twitches a wing but doesn't actually bother opening his eyes. Let the riders go at it, it's no concern of his.

"So, everyone does this? All these turns and I should have just said 'no' to some I didn't like the...what? The look of? How do you pick Taikrin? What makes someone stand out to you? Big tits? Long legs? Someone you might be an easy fuck? Or just those who'll kiss your ass?" Now she is doing some low blows, perhaps because she's being called out for not doing it right. "Seems you picked out some -real- treasures last hatching too didn't you? I have to wonder if you'd know what a tunnlesnake looked like if it came out and bit you on the ass." She doesn't bother getting up out of the bath, she's not pitching for a fight and infact she just looks sick.

"If someone's in it for /themselves/. Who ain't gonna do right by the dragon. You wanna hear me say it? Shells /yes/, I brought in some real tunnelsnakes last clutch." Taikrin practically shouts that last bit, a flush of ugly color rising in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the steam. From the other pool, people are turning to look to see what all the commotion is about. "You want to hear me say it? Searching them was a /mistake/. And I /ain't/ gonna repeat it, so I am sharding well gonna use my head and /think/ about who I'm gonna put on a dragon instead of buryin' my head in the sand and pretendin' like everyone turns sweet and nice and good the second a dragon likes 'em, so's they can live happily ever after."

Warucori gasps, putting a hand to her throat, "Taikrin!" Like the worse unsaid rule were busted open right there. "How -could- you?" Still staring at her clutchmate in a choked horror. "But...if your dragon says...Did he say?" He must have picked them, right? The hand stays up by her throat, face drained of color.

"They ended up on dragons, didn't they?" It's not an answer, precisely, but it's as close to one as Taikrin is going to growl out. "So fuck you for judging me, like I don't know what I'm doing. I /know/." And then she /will/ storm out, water dripping off her head and all, to stormily push through the whisperers gathered just on the other side of the bend.

It's answer enough to understand what the brownrider did. She shouts after the brownrider, "You should trust your Dragon!" Because obviously this must be the flaw in not doing as the dragon suggests, right? "Stupid fool." She splashes her fists into the water to let out some of her frustration, the rest come out in furious tears.

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Logs:Questionable Integrity

2013-02-07T07:22:05Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Warucori, Taikrin
| where = Bathing Caverns, HRW
| what = Warucori and Taikrin share some booze in the bathing caverns. Then things get heated... but probably not in the way that you're thinking.
| when = Late afternoon, day 2, month 5, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.27
| quote = What makes someone stand out to you? Big tits? Long legs?
| weather = A light rainfall patters on and off throughout the day, making everything slick and gray and muddy.
| categories = Clutch 31, Criminal Activity
| mentions = Jolie
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_violent.jpg
| log =

Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr

Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern. Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day. Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for easy pickup.

The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.

----

Szadath> Zaxameth lands and lets his rider go before flaunting his fresh new coat of oil..all Musk-Of-Betweeen-aftershave scented. He gives his clutchsibbling a look before scooting over to one of the greens lounging nearby. Hey baby.

Afternoon sees Taikrin fresh off of duty, and what's her first stop? Well, her weyr, to retrieve the silver flask she's got propped on the side of the bathing pool. But her /second/ stop was definitely the bathing caverns, where she's sprawled herself into the far pool and seems to be just, well, relaxing.

Szadath> Szadath is likewise sprawled in the muck of the bowl, as content to doze as his lifemate is to soak in the heat. He lifts his head briefly to rumble a greeting to Zaxameth, leaving it up long enough to watch him cozy up to his green before he snorts with amusement and lays it back down.

Afternoon sees Cori stumbling into the bathing caverns in her robe, dangling a flask from her fingers. She giggles on her way to the pool, robe falling off one oily shoulder. "Damn...dragons." The rest of the robe is shrugged out of and the blue rider leaves it strewn across the floor. Naked and oily, she gives Taikrin a wave with the flask, "Mine if I join you?" Even as she's splashing her way into the pool.

Szadath> Zaxameth has luck with the ladies, tonight at least. The green is only a couple turns old and still charmed by such lines as: 'Do you have a map? I just keep on getting lost in your eyes.' Soon he's cuddled up warm and cozy. Big brother might get the gold but, look who's toasty yo.

Taikrin cracks an eye open, then curls her lips upwards as she spots Warucori making her oily way into the caverns. She salutes with her own flask, then takes a pull from it before gesturing the bluerider on in. "Sure, sure, c'mon in. Plenty of room, water's good and warm. Been havin' a good time, huh? Oil from Zax, or some kinda awesome oil party?"

Warucori takes a long pull off the skin and dangles it towards Taikrin. Not a good idea to mix poisons, but when has that stopped anyone from having a good time? "Oh, started out innocent enough...got out of hand. Don't think I'd call it a 'party' though." Her eyes sparkle with cheerfulness. "We could do that though. Dragon oiling and mixed company is much more fun." A quick look around, expecting to see someone with the brownrider. "How are you doing?"

"Not a party, huh." Taikrin takes the skin happily, offering her own flask of whiskey in its place. "Sounds like it could be fun," she adds, though it's with a laid-back enthusiasm. "'M doin' alright. Just got off sweeps - had the Tillek run, today. Not a bad day for it. You? Aside from your, uh, oiling adventure."

Warucori accepts the whiskey with a bob of her head at the trade off and has a small swig. "We had drills from the Red Star this morning. Someone did something, or said something...stupid wing politics." A passing scowl at the memory of it. "But, day has rounded the corner I think. Evening ALL to myself." She sneaks another sip of the flask and offers it back. "Did you celibrate end of your dry spell?"

After a long pull from the skin, Taikrin is happy to exchange it for her own flash. "Drills, huh. Woulda rather done those, I think. /Awful/ tired of doin' sweeps, me." She quirks a crooked grin at that, shifting forward to better facilitate conversation. "Y'might say that. She was still ready to go, even after that whole cluster. Makin' the most of it, y'know? Thinkin' it'll be a good time to take her out to the gather. Maybe we can sneak off and defile a Holder's bed, yeah?"

"Good! Oh I'm so happy to hear that Taikrin! At least someone's getting something out of this whole exile mess." Warucori gives a wink, "And you are so -bad-. You should, Lord Holder's bed. And you know," Here there's just enough pause for the girl to glance around to make sure now busybodies are listening, "Bet no one is going to be watching them that close." The exiles. "Too bad none of them have fallen into my lap. So to speak."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how it goes. Sure has caused me a flaming lot of grief, so far." Taikrin makes a face, then tips her head back to drink more -- because that way she doesn't have to think about it so much! Then, "Reckon you could if you looked at one the right way. Coupl'a the younger boys look like easy pickins, the way I seen 'em takin' up drinking and stuff. Get one young, you can train him up however you like?" There's a gleam in Taikrin's eye, and her eyebrows waggle teasingly. "Doubt they've even run into someone like you before. Bet you could have 'em eating out of your hand in no time."

Warucori looks encouraged by her clutchmate's suggestion, "Yeah?" There's a bit of hesitation before she says, "I tried to put the moves on that Tomaerna guy. Is that his name? Anyway, I think maybe he likes boys. Didn't get -anywhere-. Still, maybe shouldn't give up so quickly, I do like the idea of training. I have a nice new weyr, lots of room. Bet the weyrleaders wouldn't care if I had a kept boy right?" Half in joke, right? "Oh and poor Zev...that girl he's chasing."

"Hey, it ain't like you wouldn't let him leave if he /really/ begged nice, right? Y'don't even got to lock him up, because where's he gonna go from your weyr?" Oh Taikrin. She's probably just kidding, though sometimes it's hard to tell with her. "Don't know most of the names of their guys, honestly. Which one was Zev after, again? Wasn't it that crazy one who keeps tryin' to fight people?"

Warucori nods her head, sips wine, nods again, "Right. I'd just be doing my part getting them transitioned to the weyrlifestyle. Right? That's what they want us to do?" Giggling at the idea of trapping one of them. Understanding follows the comment about not following the guys, "I'm no better, I hardly catch their names. Oh, Zev has the hots for Rhaelyn. You won't think it's awful that I'm trying to help him catch her will you? Maybe it'd mellow her out. Don't know about the fighting but my candidate doesn't have good things to say about her."

"I don't like her. You should pick a different one." From teasing to curt in 0.2 seconds flat. But Taikrin /is/ serious, on that last one. "Don't like her type. Szad thought she might be good for the eggs, but I don't think so. I mean, she nearly /busted one open/, didn't she? There's plenty of cute ones to pick from. You should steer him towards, like, that little redheaded one? Or there were a couple of the blonds that were cute, and seemed, y'know, pliant."

"Taikrin." Warucori sounds shocked, blinking at the brownrider, "You can't just...pick and choose like that." Candidate-picking. "Zax would have my dangling by a leg if I didn't accept his picks. Even if I don't like some of them." Of course the bluerider's dislike isn't really on the same level. "But...did she? SHE was the one? I thought there were three of them." Rumors right? Cori frowns and shrugs, "Zev likes the challenge. Don't think it's my place to talk him out of who he wants to fuck. So long as I don't have to be in the mix. Like my lovers warm, snuggly and squirmy personally." She pokes Taikrin with her foot under the water with a smile.

"Well, why not? Someone's got to protect the eggs, otherwise they're just gonna end up pickin' whoever gets in their way. So long as there's plenty of others, they'll be fine." There's not even a whisker of doubt in Taikrin about this; it's almost as if she's speaking from experience. "Riorde says it was her fault, an' I believe her. Girl straight-out attacked me last month. She's crazy." But she shrugs too, and quirks a half-smile in response to Cori's nudge. "Don't know about the squirmy part, but-- warm sure as shells helps."

"Would you rather the little one bang him or herself up and maybe damage themselves getting to the person they want? Like when we were on the sands. Remember?" Warucori frowns, worried. "Oh Taikrin, of course you believe your -lover-." She has another drink of the wine and wipes her lips with the back of her hand afterwards. "I don't like it Taikrin. What if...a dragon changed her, for the better?" It certainly changed Cori. "Remember when we broke into ... what's her name....her footpress?"

"I /so/ doubt it'd come to that. I mean, shells, Rhabarith-- well, I guess there's no accounting for taste. I guess that ended out okay, but... gotta give 'em all the help we can, I reckon." Taikrin shrugs, clearly unconcerned. "An' what if a dragon made her worse? Ain't worth takin' the chance, I think." She is the queen of cognitive dissonance, apparently. "An' it was /you/ lot causin' trouble. I only wanted to stop Saliqa from--" And just like that, her jaw snaps shut, downs the remainder of the booze in her flask, and abruptly changes the topic. "Anyways, it was a long time ago. Don't think much about those days, me."

Warucori shakes her head, "It's not really -your- choice Taikrin. Just because your dragon sired one clutch and your going to be the one to pick and choose who -you- think should stand?" Good ol girl-scout Cori and now her poor little brain is troubled by this guilt-thing. "I can't believe your dragon didn't put up more of a fuss." It's not as easy for her to not think about it though. Still, she splashes at the brownrider, "My lot? Oh, I had the hots for the criminal boy. Oh, badboys...why must they be so hot?"

"Yeah. It is. Szadath trusts me. It ain't got nothin' to do with Iskiveth and her clutch and everything to do with how I /know what I'm doin'/. Faranth, you're soundin' like the Weyrleader. Guy riders have been bringing in chicks to search because they wanted to screw them since /forever/, and you're giving /me/ a hard time for not wanting to put a tunnelsnake of a girl on the sands?" Taikrin has progressed from unconcern to irritation; she tosses the empty flask towards her pile of discarded clothes, and pushes to her feet. "My drink's empty. Reckon I need to go fill it up."

Warucori's voice is firm, "It's not -right-." And, "It doesn't make this right you know, justifying what others do so you can feel better about breaking rules. It's a power trip same as theirs. Shards and shells, have your plaything on the sands, get her a green or shards, that gold out there. But no one should bend the rules just because they got their tail in a twist about some girl. This is wrong. And it's worse becuase you know it's wrong." She offers out her flask of wine though, "I hope it eats at you. If there is a dragon left on the sands that doesn't find his match. I hope it keeps you up at night."

"Shards, Cori, I thought you got over bein' a nice Holder girl," It's a low blow, and Taikrin knows it; her lips compress as she swishes out of the water and reaches for a towel and starts drying herself with more than necessary vigor. "It's the /right/ thing to do. It ain't about her, it's about her not bein' /good enough/. It ain't like I'm gonna make her stop if someone /else/ decides she's gotta be there, or, shells, if she /asks/. But /I/ won't be involved in puttin' a sneaky tunnelsnake on a dragon again." Again?

Warucori blows out a breath, "That's right, I am a -Dragonrider- Taikrin. Did you conviniently forget that you were too?" She watches the brownrder get up, frowning, "If it's not about her, what is it about then? It's about you. You want the power to decide? You are -that- power hungry? How does it feel huh? I thought I -knew- you." Disapointment hangs heavily and sadly in those words.

"Everything I do, I do it for the hatchlings. I don't care about some silly chit from the islands, and I don't care about what you think is /fair/ or whatever; you ain't even /listening/ anymore. You're just like them." Somewhat dry now, Taikrin struggles into her pants before spitting out, "Thought she was just some piece of ass your weyrmate was chasin' after? Why the shells do you care?"

Warucori's looks at a loss, head shaking back and forth, "I care because I have spend weeks and weeks on end flying on Zaxameth as he goes to one hold to another on some whim that someone might be worth standing for our clutch. He picks out these holders and I have to put up with their parents all but spitting on me as they mouth the words of 'duty' and 'honor' and I take their child away. All on the hope that they might be riders. And you--you sit here and tell me that you know better than the dragons. Why in the fuck are we even asking the dragons who to pick?" Her head shakes sadly, "I didn't say 'fair'. I said 'Right' and 'Wrong'. She is just some piece of ass Zev wants to play with, but if Zaxameth saw she was fit for the sands I wouldn't say otherwise. To anyone. I trust him." Her eyes narrow, something that was missed before in her shock, something tugging at her, "You...do this all the time when you search? Handpick who you want?" Such a girlscout.

Szadath> Zaxameth lifts his head from nuzzling the green and makes a low grumbling sound.

The first part of Taikrin's retort is muffled as she pulls her shirt layers over her head. "Well maybe you're doin' it wrong," is her somewhat sharp retort. "Ought to look closer to home, pick out more of the kids floating around the Weyr instead of digging through all the holds. Or are you just bored with the ones we got here?" Finally dressed, she dumps her flask in a pocket and puts her hands on her hips as she stares down at Warucori, her gaze cold. "Szadath knows if someone's got potential. Loads of people got potential. Don't mean they're a /good choice/. We don't let poeple who're knocked up or married stand. I'm just doin' the same thing. Only, this time I'm protectin' the /hatchlings/. Faranth, it's like /none/ of you people even think about them."

Szadath> Szadath twitches a wing but doesn't actually bother opening his eyes. Let the riders go at it, it's no concern of his.

"So, everyone does this? All these turns and I should have just said 'no' to some I didn't like the...what? The look of? How do you pick Taikrin? What makes someone stand out to you? Big tits? Long legs? Someone you might be an easy fuck? Or just those who'll kiss your ass?" Now she is doing some low blows, perhaps because she's being called out for not doing it right. "Seems you picked out some -real- treasures last hatching too didn't you? I have to wonder if you'd know what a tunnlesnake looked like if it came out and bit you on the ass." She doesn't bother getting up out of the bath, she's not pitching for a fight and infact she just looks sick.

"If someone's in it for /themselves/. Who ain't gonna do right by the dragon. You wanna hear me say it? Shells /yes/, I brought in some real tunnelsnakes last clutch." Taikrin practically shouts that last bit, a flush of ugly color rising in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the steam. From the other pool, people are turning to look to see what all the commotion is about. "You want to hear me say it? Searching them was a /mistake/. And I /ain't/ gonna repeat it, so I am sharding well gonna use my head and /think/ about who I'm gonna put on a dragon instead of buryin' my head in the sand and pretendin' like everyone turns sweet and nice and good the second a dragon likes 'em, so's they can live happily ever after."

Warucori gasps, putting a hand to her throat, "Taikrin!" Like the worse unsaid rule were busted open right there. "How -could- you?" Still staring at her clutchmate in a choked horror. "But...if your dragon says...Did he say?" He must have picked them, right? The hand stays up by her throat, face drained of color.

"They ended up on dragons, didn't they?" It's not an answer, precisely, but it's as close to one as Taikrin is going to growl out. "So fuck you for judging me, like I don't know what I'm doing. I /know/." And then she /will/ storm out, water dripping off her head and all, to stormily push through the whisperers gathered just on the other side of the bend.

It's answer enough to understand what the brownrider did. She shouts after the brownrider, "You should trust your Dragon!" Because obviously this must be the flaw in not doing as the dragon suggests, right? "Stupid fool." She splashes her fists into the water to let out some of her frustration, the rest come out in furious tears.

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Logs:Questionable Integrity

2013-02-07T07:18:16Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Warucori, Taikrin | where = Bathing Caverns, HRW | what = Warucori and Taikrin share some booze in the bathing caverns. Then things get heated... but probably n..."

{{ Log
| who = Warucori, Taikrin
| where = Bathing Caverns, HRW
| what = Warucori and Taikrin share some booze in the bathing caverns. Then things get heated... but probably not in the way that you're thinking.
| when = Late afternoon, day 2, month 5, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.07.27
| quote = What makes someone stand out to you? Big tits? Long legs?
| weather = A light rainfall patters on and off throughout the day, making everything slick and gray and muddy.
| categories = Clutch 31, Criminal Activity
| mentions = Jolie
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_violent
| log =

Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr

Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern. Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day. Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for easy pickup.

The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.

----

Szadath> Zaxameth lands and lets his rider go before flaunting his fresh new coat of oil..all Musk-Of-Betweeen-aftershave scented. He gives his clutchsibbling a look before scooting over to one of the greens lounging nearby. Hey baby.

Afternoon sees Taikrin fresh off of duty, and what's her first stop? Well, her weyr, to retrieve the silver flask she's got propped on the side of the bathing pool. But her /second/ stop was definitely the bathing caverns, where she's sprawled herself into the far pool and seems to be just, well, relaxing.

Szadath> Szadath is likewise sprawled in the muck of the bowl, as content to doze as his lifemate is to soak in the heat. He lifts his head briefly to rumble a greeting to Zaxameth, leaving it up long enough to watch him cozy up to his green before he snorts with amusement and lays it back down.

Afternoon sees Cori stumbling into the bathing caverns in her robe, dangling a flask from her fingers. She giggles on her way to the pool, robe falling off one oily shoulder. "Damn...dragons." The rest of the robe is shrugged out of and the blue rider leaves it strewn across the floor. Naked and oily, she gives Taikrin a wave with the flask, "Mine if I join you?" Even as she's splashing her way into the pool.

Szadath> Zaxameth has luck with the ladies, tonight at least. The green is only a couple turns old and still charmed by such lines as: 'Do you have a map? I just keep on getting lost in your eyes.' Soon he's cuddled up warm and cozy. Big brother might get the gold but, look who's toasty yo.

Taikrin cracks an eye open, then curls her lips upwards as she spots Warucori making her oily way into the caverns. She salutes with her own flask, then takes a pull from it before gesturing the bluerider on in. "Sure, sure, c'mon in. Plenty of room, water's good and warm. Been havin' a good time, huh? Oil from Zax, or some kinda awesome oil party?"

Warucori takes a long pull off the skin and dangles it towards Taikrin. Not a good idea to mix poisons, but when has that stopped anyone from having a good time? "Oh, started out innocent enough...got out of hand. Don't think I'd call it a 'party' though." Her eyes sparkle with cheerfulness. "We could do that though. Dragon oiling and mixed company is much more fun." A quick look around, expecting to see someone with the brownrider. "How are you doing?"

"Not a party, huh." Taikrin takes the skin happily, offering her own flask of whiskey in its place. "Sounds like it could be fun," she adds, though it's with a laid-back enthusiasm. "'M doin' alright. Just got off sweeps - had the Tillek run, today. Not a bad day for it. You? Aside from your, uh, oiling adventure."

Warucori accepts the whiskey with a bob of her head at the trade off and has a small swig. "We had drills from the Red Star this morning. Someone did something, or said something...stupid wing politics." A passing scowl at the memory of it. "But, day has rounded the corner I think. Evening ALL to myself." She sneaks another sip of the flask and offers it back. "Did you celibrate end of your dry spell?"

After a long pull from the skin, Taikrin is happy to exchange it for her own flash. "Drills, huh. Woulda rather done those, I think. /Awful/ tired of doin' sweeps, me." She quirks a crooked grin at that, shifting forward to better facilitate conversation. "Y'might say that. She was still ready to go, even after that whole cluster. Makin' the most of it, y'know? Thinkin' it'll be a good time to take her out to the gather. Maybe we can sneak off and defile a Holder's bed, yeah?"

"Good! Oh I'm so happy to hear that Taikrin! At least someone's getting something out of this whole exile mess." Warucori gives a wink, "And you are so -bad-. You should, Lord Holder's bed. And you know," Here there's just enough pause for the girl to glance around to make sure now busybodies are listening, "Bet no one is going to be watching them that close." The exiles. "Too bad none of them have fallen into my lap. So to speak."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how it goes. Sure has caused me a flaming lot of grief, so far." Taikrin makes a face, then tips her head back to drink more -- because that way she doesn't have to think about it so much! Then, "Reckon you could if you looked at one the right way. Coupl'a the younger boys look like easy pickins, the way I seen 'em takin' up drinking and stuff. Get one young, you can train him up however you like?" There's a gleam in Taikrin's eye, and her eyebrows waggle teasingly. "Doubt they've even run into someone like you before. Bet you could have 'em eating out of your hand in no time."

Warucori looks encouraged by her clutchmate's suggestion, "Yeah?" There's a bit of hesitation before she says, "I tried to put the moves on that Tomaerna guy. Is that his name? Anyway, I think maybe he likes boys. Didn't get -anywhere-. Still, maybe shouldn't give up so quickly, I do like the idea of training. I have a nice new weyr, lots of room. Bet the weyrleaders wouldn't care if I had a kept boy right?" Half in joke, right? "Oh and poor Zev...that girl he's chasing."

"Hey, it ain't like you wouldn't let him leave if he /really/ begged nice, right? Y'don't even got to lock him up, because where's he gonna go from your weyr?" Oh Taikrin. She's probably just kidding, though sometimes it's hard to tell with her. "Don't know most of the names of their guys, honestly. Which one was Zev after, again? Wasn't it that crazy one who keeps tryin' to fight people?"

Warucori nods her head, sips wine, nods again, "Right. I'd just be doing my part getting them transitioned to the weyrlifestyle. Right? That's what they want us to do?" Giggling at the idea of trapping one of them. Understanding follows the comment about not following the guys, "I'm no better, I hardly catch their names. Oh, Zev has the hots for Rhaelyn. You won't think it's awful that I'm trying to help him catch her will you? Maybe it'd mellow her out. Don't know about the fighting but my candidate doesn't have good things to say about her."

"I don't like her. You should pick a different one." From teasing to curt in 0.2 seconds flat. But Taikrin /is/ serious, on that last one. "Don't like her type. Szad thought she might be good for the eggs, but I don't think so. I mean, she nearly /busted one open/, didn't she? There's plenty of cute ones to pick from. You should steer him towards, like, that little redheaded one? Or there were a couple of the blonds that were cute, and seemed, y'know, pliant."

"Taikrin." Warucori sounds shocked, blinking at the brownrider, "You can't just...pick and choose like that." Candidate-picking. "Zax would have my dangling by a leg if I didn't accept his picks. Even if I don't like some of them." Of course the bluerider's dislike isn't really on the same level. "But...did she? SHE was the one? I thought there were three of them." Rumors right? Cori frowns and shrugs, "Zev likes the challenge. Don't think it's my place to talk him out of who he wants to fuck. So long as I don't have to be in the mix. Like my lovers warm, snuggly and squirmy personally." She pokes Taikrin with her foot under the water with a smile.

"Well, why not? Someone's got to protect the eggs, otherwise they're just gonna end up pickin' whoever gets in their way. So long as there's plenty of others, they'll be fine." There's not even a whisker of doubt in Taikrin about this; it's almost as if she's speaking from experience. "Riorde says it was her fault, an' I believe her. Girl straight-out attacked me last month. She's crazy." But she shrugs too, and quirks a half-smile in response to Cori's nudge. "Don't know about the squirmy part, but-- warm sure as shells helps."

"Would you rather the little one bang him or herself up and maybe damage themselves getting to the person they want? Like when we were on the sands. Remember?" Warucori frowns, worried. "Oh Taikrin, of course you believe your -lover-." She has another drink of the wine and wipes her lips with the back of her hand afterwards. "I don't like it Taikrin. What if...a dragon changed her, for the better?" It certainly changed Cori. "Remember when we broke into ... what's her name....her footpress?"

"I /so/ doubt it'd come to that. I mean, shells, Rhabarith-- well, I guess there's no accounting for taste. I guess that ended out okay, but... gotta give 'em all the help we can, I reckon." Taikrin shrugs, clearly unconcerned. "An' what if a dragon made her worse? Ain't worth takin' the chance, I think." She is the queen of cognitive dissonance, apparently. "An' it was /you/ lot causin' trouble. I only wanted to stop Saliqa from--" And just like that, her jaw snaps shut, downs the remainder of the booze in her flask, and abruptly changes the topic. "Anyways, it was a long time ago. Don't think much about those days, me."

Warucori shakes her head, "It's not really -your- choice Taikrin. Just because your dragon sired one clutch and your going to be the one to pick and choose who -you- think should stand?" Good ol girl-scout Cori and now her poor little brain is troubled by this guilt-thing. "I can't believe your dragon didn't put up more of a fuss." It's not as easy for her to not think about it though. Still, she splashes at the brownrider, "My lot? Oh, I had the hots for the criminal boy. Oh, badboys...why must they be so hot?"

"Yeah. It is. Szadath trusts me. It ain't got nothin' to do with Iskiveth and her clutch and everything to do with how I /know what I'm doin'/. Faranth, you're soundin' like the Weyrleader. Guy riders have been bringing in chicks to search because they wanted to screw them since /forever/, and you're giving /me/ a hard time for not wanting to put a tunnelsnake of a girl on the sands?" Taikrin has progressed from unconcern to irritation; she tosses the empty flask towards her pile of discarded clothes, and pushes to her feet. "My drink's empty. Reckon I need to go fill it up."

Warucori's voice is firm, "It's not -right-." And, "It doesn't make this right you know, justifying what others do so you can feel better about breaking rules. It's a power trip same as theirs. Shards and shells, have your plaything on the sands, get her a green or shards, that gold out there. But no one should bend the rules just because they got their tail in a twist about some girl. This is wrong. And it's worse becuase you know it's wrong." She offers out her flask of wine though, "I hope it eats at you. If there is a dragon left on the sands that doesn't find his match. I hope it keeps you up at night."

"Shards, Cori, I thought you got over bein' a nice Holder girl," It's a low blow, and Taikrin knows it; her lips compress as she swishes out of the water and reaches for a towel and starts drying herself with more than necessary vigor. "It's the /right/ thing to do. It ain't about her, it's about her not bein' /good enough/. It ain't like I'm gonna make her stop if someone /else/ decides she's gotta be there, or, shells, if she /asks/. But /I/ won't be involved in puttin' a sneaky tunnelsnake on a dragon again." Again?

Warucori blows out a breath, "That's right, I am a -Dragonrider- Taikrin. Did you conviniently forget that you were too?" She watches the brownrder get up, frowning, "If it's not about her, what is it about then? It's about you. You want the power to decide? You are -that- power hungry? How does it feel huh? I thought I -knew- you." Disapointment hangs heavily and sadly in those words.

"Everything I do, I do it for the hatchlings. I don't care about some silly chit from the islands, and I don't care about what you think is /fair/ or whatever; you ain't even /listening/ anymore. You're just like them." Somewhat dry now, Taikrin struggles into her pants before spitting out, "Thought she was just some piece of ass your weyrmate was chasin' after? Why the shells do you care?"

Warucori's looks at a loss, head shaking back and forth, "I care because I have spend weeks and weeks on end flying on Zaxameth as he goes to one hold to another on some whim that someone might be worth standing for our clutch. He picks out these holders and I have to put up with their parents all but spitting on me as they mouth the words of 'duty' and 'honor' and I take their child away. All on the hope that they might be riders. And you--you sit here and tell me that you know better than the dragons. Why in the fuck are we even asking the dragons who to pick?" Her head shakes sadly, "I didn't say 'fair'. I said 'Right' and 'Wrong'. She is just some piece of ass Zev wants to play with, but if Zaxameth saw she was fit for the sands I wouldn't say otherwise. To anyone. I trust him." Her eyes narrow, something that was missed before in her shock, something tugging at her, "You...do this all the time when you search? Handpick who you want?" Such a girlscout.

Szadath> Zaxameth lifts his head from nuzzling the green and makes a low grumbling sound.

The first part of Taikrin's retort is muffled as she pulls her shirt layers over her head. "Well maybe you're doin' it wrong," is her somewhat sharp retort. "Ought to look closer to home, pick out more of the kids floating around the Weyr instead of digging through all the holds. Or are you just bored with the ones we got here?" Finally dressed, she dumps her flask in a pocket and puts her hands on her hips as she stares down at Warucori, her gaze cold. "Szadath knows if someone's got potential. Loads of people got potential. Don't mean they're a /good choice/. We don't let poeple who're knocked up or married stand. I'm just doin' the same thing. Only, this time I'm protectin' the /hatchlings/. Faranth, it's like /none/ of you people even think about them."

Szadath> Szadath twitches a wing but doesn't actually bother opening his eyes. Let the riders go at it, it's no concern of his.

"So, everyone does this? All these turns and I should have just said 'no' to some I didn't like the...what? The look of? How do you pick Taikrin? What makes someone stand out to you? Big tits? Long legs? Someone you might be an easy fuck? Or just those who'll kiss your ass?" Now she is doing some low blows, perhaps because she's being called out for not doing it right. "Seems you picked out some -real- treasures last hatching too didn't you? I have to wonder if you'd know what a tunnlesnake looked like if it came out and bit you on the ass." She doesn't bother getting up out of the bath, she's not pitching for a fight and infact she just looks sick.

"If someone's in it for /themselves/. Who ain't gonna do right by the dragon. You wanna hear me say it? Shells /yes/, I brought in some real tunnelsnakes last clutch." Taikrin practically shouts that last bit, a flush of ugly color rising in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the steam. From the other pool, people are turning to look to see what all the commotion is about. "You want to hear me say it? Searching them was a /mistake/. And I /ain't/ gonna repeat it, so I am sharding well gonna use my head and /think/ about who I'm gonna put on a dragon instead of buryin' my head in the sand and pretendin' like everyone turns sweet and nice and good the second a dragon likes 'em, so's they can live happily ever after."

Warucori gasps, putting a hand to her throat, "Taikrin!" Like the worse unsaid rule were busted open right there. "How -could- you?" Still staring at her clutchmate in a choked horror. "But...if your dragon says...Did he say?" He must have picked them, right? The hand stays up by her throat, face drained of color.

"They ended up on dragons, didn't they?" It's not an answer, precisely, but it's as close to one as Taikrin is going to growl out. "So fuck you for judging me, like I don't know what I'm doing. I /know/." And then she /will/ storm out, water dripping off her head and all, to stormily push through the whisperers gathered just on the other side of the bend.

It's answer enough to understand what the brownrider did. She shouts after the brownrider, "You should trust your Dragon!" Because obviously this must be the flaw in not doing as the dragon suggests, right? "Stupid fool." She splashes her fists into the water to let out some of her frustration, the rest come out in furious tears.

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Logs:Fun is serious business.

2013-02-07T07:08:55Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Elgin, Lujayn, Nathalia, Rhaelyn, Taikrin, Ylynna (NPC), Riorde, Ali
| where = Orchards, High Reaches Hold
| what = Lujayn tries to make sure that everyone has a Good Time at the gather. It's hard work.
| when = Day 14, month 5, turn 26
| gamedate = 2011.07.31
| quote = We have all of our teeth. For now.
| weather =
| categories = Gather, islanders, Exiles
| mentions =
| icons = riorde.jpg, taikrin_heart.jpg
| log =

Ah, weyr-hold-craft relations have reached a new level. Rhaelyn utters a soft laugh at Nathalia's insults, or maybe it's the color that Ylynna is turning. No one could ever claim that Rhae cared much for anyone's feelings save her own right? "Don't you know who I am?" Ylynna asks from between her teeth. It's a smile, but a tight one, all teeth, "How -dare- you, you little bucket of tripe." There's a group of holders around Ylynna and Rhaelyn. The exile girl is dressed up in a glamorous red evening gown with jewels in her ears and in her pinned up hair. There's a side-show atmosphere as they have been gawking at the well-groomed exile on display, that is until the flinging of insults. "Nathalia...." Rhaelyn's voice is quiet, amused, but full of warning. Maybe it's too late for that though, the holders don't look too happy.

From Taikrin's wind-reddened cheeks, she hasn't been long at the gather. But at least she's groomed for it, more or less: well-tailored black leather pants, softer than a rider's usual fair, and a snug-fitting cream shirt of some sort of shimmery fabric. She /even/ had her hair freshly cut. She hasn't picked up much yet from the gather, aside from a cup of wine, when the sounds of a ruckus attracts her like a fly to honey. Just one more person to gawk, even if she's got rather more of a smirk on than most of them.

Nat just grins, probably more fun than she's had in months, considering how well behaved she's been. "No but let me take a wild guess, some supposedly privlaged holder brat who will likely as not be married off to promptly produce little bastards." There's an almost roar of a laugh. How dare she indeed. "Direct your complaints to the Smith Hall, though likely as not they will tell you the same thing I just did." And with a secret grin to Rhaelyn, the smith sets off to find something a little stronger than Klah to drink. Spotting Taikrin, there's a small frown but a friendly enough wave as she orders a mug of beer.

Lujayn heads in from High Reaches Hold.
Lujayn has arrived.

Ylynna gives Rhaelyn a look of warning, "Your pretty things can be taken away as quickly as they were 'given'." It's enough to make Rhae's shoulders tighten and her amusement fade. "That's right. Good girl." A few of the holders have thinned from the group though, lacking the stomach for any violence that is surely brewing. To Nathalia, Ylynna answers back with pompous retort, "I am Lady Highreaches niece! And a candidate. I'll be getting that gold dragon. You mark my words girlie-girl. And--and--you're a -Candidate-. I'm going to speak with the weyrleader about you running off with that mouth in front of all these fine hold people." The grin is pleased. Yes, she'll get nat in trouble! Meanwhile Rhae just stands there, arms crossing over her bejewed bodice front as a few other gather-goers sneak closer to peer at the exile.

A sardonic grin quirks Taikrin's lips at the rant from 'The Niece of High Reaches', though she doesn't linger. Rather, she cuts over to saunter towards Nathalia, drawing beside the girl with both eyebrows raised. "Y'know," she remarks conversationally, "Generally, it ain't considered good form for candidates to be rilin' up the hosts, even if the hosts are overbred and rude. She knocks back wine as if it were whiskey, then adds, "/Especially/ if you got t'share a barracks with 'em tonight. Never know when a girl like that's gonna get someone t'shank you in your sleep."

If the Smith catches the discourse between Rhaelyn and Ylynna it doesn't show on her features, though something clearly clicks in her head. Obviously finished with the Holder brat. She just shrugs. "Give Lady High Reaches my fondest regards, and by all means tell the Weyrleader. Unlike some I actually enjoy hard work." With that the gaggle of holders is ignored in favor of her beer and Taikrin. The smith looks up at the brownrider with a grin. "Yeah I suppose I will be scrubbing the latrines tomorrow, but shards and shells it will be worth it." In a quiter voice there's a small laugh. "Shanked? Hardly, I doubt there's anyone with the brass to do it. Well Rhaelyn might. . ." There's a laugh. "Some things though are just as simple as right and wrong, and nobody, not even Rhae deserves to be talked to like that."

Lujayn drifts along in the crowds of the gather, making tired small talk here and there with no inkling that the larger tide of curious ears is sweeping her towards a building conflict. It's more the tone and volume that catch her attention than the words themselves, and Lu strikes out on her own path to hedge at the quarrelers' heels. "Shells, what /is/ the matter here?" A glance to Taikrin as tiredness flares into irritation at the whole lot - can't she keep these girls in line? At least Nathalia looks removed. "Duties to your hold," She introduces herself abruptly to Ylynna. "Lujayn of gold Rielsath." She can't bring herself to make more scathing comments, but her gray eyes hold stormclouds. "It sounds like you'll be joining us soon? Congratulations."

Ylynna flicks a sharp 'shoo' flick of fingers after Nathila and makes sure she's not going to come back before turning back to Rhae. "Stop fussing. Unfold your arms." A quick adjustment of her dress and the side-show continues with a few new additions drifting past. "Lets see, where were we? Ah yes, as you can see, they are quite harmless." The contrast of the heated smith-candidate and the domesticated Rhaelyn makes a few of the holders murmur their agreement. "But maybe she simply doesn't understand." An older man suggests as he comes closer to get a better look. "Certainly looks healthy enough for a bag of bones. Do they have all their teeth?" Instead of answering the questions about the exiles, Ylynna must preen before the Highreaches rider, "Oh, Goldrider Lujayn." Pretty dimples for the lady, "I'm Ylynna." She doens't introduce Rhaelyn. "I've had the pleasure of your hospitality for a few weeks now. But it's so nice to visit home."

"Sure seems to me you got a thing for wanting t'be scrubbing latrines. You got some kinda weird fetish or something?" Taikrin is probably joking: nobody's smirk can be that insufferable while still maintaining a semblance of seriousness. "Anyways, in my experience it don't take much balls at all to go after some poor, sleeping sap. And, well... y'never know." A shoulder rises in a shrug, idly. "Good on you to be lookin' out for her, I guess, but I reckon you probably want to look out for yourself, more. Doubt her sort is gonna appreciate you stickin' your neck out." She twists to glance over her shoulder at the Rhaelyn/Ylynna spectacle, seems about to protest, but then notices Lujayn and subsides. To Nathalia, "There, Lujayn's got it all in hand now. Don't you worry none."

Nat laughs, "Nah no fetishes honest, I just figure no matter what I do I get into mischief anyway, may as well be preemptive about the chores that usually follow." She shrugs. There's a thoughtful expression for the comment. "Well between you and me I don't sleep much these days anyway." She follows Taikrin's glance to the now preening spectacle. "I suppose, but your right, she won't appreciate it. She's just as likely to spit venom at me for it. It isn't like I expected a thank you or anything for it either." She studies the brownrider thoughtfuly. "Is that what you do Taikrin? Look after yourself?" there's no accusation and certainly no venom. Just a mild tone and a curiosity in her eyes. "I expect that will be another gold rider I have now /not/ endeared myself too. This is becoming a bad habit."

Bag of bones? Teeth? "Thank you sir, we're very well," As if the man had been asking after their health and not sizing someone up like a runner. Lujayn's tone is clearly a dismissal to the crowd, turning her back on them. Lujayn is familiar with Rhaelyn, perhaps not personally but certainly enough so that she steps closer to the other girl. "You're not on display," Speaking directly to Rhae before hissing through her teeth to the preening git Ylynna. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you that as a candidate you're to respect all members of the Weyr. Why don't you find some dear old friend to visit? I daresay they've missed your charming ways." Heavy on the sarcasm.

"Better sleep now," Taikrin declares in no uncertain terms. "You end up with a dragon, you ain't gonna be sleepin' much the first month or two. Kinda like babies, wantin' to be fed and play and be oiled at all kinds o dumb hours." Nathalia's question draws the brownrider's full attention for likely the first time all conversation; though there's still the ghost of amusement sketched onto her face, there's something serious and measuring in the way her dark eyes lock onto the candidate's. "Look after me /and/ Szadath," she clarifies. "And the people who matter. And the ones what can't take care of themselves. And the hatchlings. Y'know, someone's got to do it." She doesn't turn to look back at Lujayn, but there is a temporary gravity shift as her attention pings over then back. "And /how/ can you not get on with Teris and Tiriana? They're easy."

Ylynna's fine show is slipping through her fingers. She makes a click sound of her teeth as the goldrider comes between herself and the exile-show. "She doens't mind it. Do you Rhaelyn?" It's a last grasp to keep the exile in her clutches for the attention it'll gain her. For a moment Rhaelyn is really stuck, side with the rider, or with the girl who made the bargain with her? "I didn't know that borrowing the dress and things was going to cut into so much gather time." The exile allows and looks to Lujayn, wary but thankful for chance to chew her leg out of the trap.

Elgin strides into the orchards to escape the noise from the courtyard, or at least as much as he can. This is his first trip out of the weyr since the exiles rescued and the usually confident boy is looking a little wary himself. His eyes dart between tables and tents but for the most part he is scanning the crowd for people he knows. Rhaelyn is spotted and he moves towards that group, "Hey Rhae..." His voice trailing off as the goldrider is given a salute. "Goldrider..."

Nat seems thoughtful. "Really? Hadn't thought of that. It's very different I guess, then again no guarantees that anybody impresses." Nat just meets those dark eyes unflinchingly but a smile works its way over her lips at the riders response. "The hatchlings and the ones who can't look after themselves. . ." She echoes as though confirming something, measuring Taikrin with that look. "Someone does, and usually it is a pretty thankless job." She agrees finally. "Well I haven't met Tiriana, but Teris seemed to take everything I said in the most offensive manner possible." She notes with a sigh, pulling a long drain from her mug. She does let her attention float back for a moment, but it returns back to the brown rider.

"This dress?" Lujayn finally notices that people tend to wear clothes. "We'll have it returned in good order by the end of the day, Ylynna. But I'd be happy to escort you to the Weyr if you'd rather have it back." An unpleasant threat, that: chores weighed against a good party. Elgin's arrival is the perfect excuse for the goldrider to ignore Miss-Highreaches-Niece, neatly excluding her from the new trio. "Let me know if you need anything," As an aside to Rhaelyn before the other candidate comes close enough to hear. She relaxes just a bit, a smile clearing through those storm-filled eyes. "Afternoon. Elgin, isn't it?"

/That/ little bit about Teris prompts a guffaw of laughter and a clap to Nathalia's shoulder with Taikrin's free hand. "That /does/ sound like Teris," she admits ruefully. "Don't /you/ take it personal. She's having a hard time, lately." She dumps the last of the wine down her throat, then draws the back of her hand across her mouth. A thought suddenly dawns, because she peers at Nathalia's mug with pursed lips. "Hey, you supposed to be drinkin' that? Or is it just weyrlings that ain't allowed? Don't know as I can remember the rules, but I know I remember /somethin'/ like that." Her expression melts away to reveal a lopsided grin. "Worst time of my life, I reckon, havin' to go dry."

Ylynna huffs a few empty, "But...it's too late. She's altered it. Ruined it." Ruined everything for the end of Ylynna's gather it seems. "I'll see -you- back at the weyr Rhaelyn." The voice is kind, the look is not. She brushes by Elgin with an elbow and off she goes to rejoin her friends, making no bones about dishing some dirt about how poorly the weyr is treating her after her 'kindness' to the savages. "Well, at least I don't have to say 'Weyr' again to them." Yes, she has an accent. Yes, the way she speaks is 'old and formal'. "Thank you. I think." And to Elgin she flashes a little smile, fixing the front of her bodice again, even with the alterations it swims on her.

Nat just smiles. "What has been going on with her Any how? Seems like a lot of folks have been extra prickly." She notes quietly. As her drink is spotted there is a blush from the crafter. "Just not supposed to get drunk I think, wait. . . you have to go /dry/ if you impress?" Clearly the thought had never occurred to her.

Elgin isn't sure what he walked into but he doesn't seem surprised when the stranger brushes passed him, though he does wince slightly at the elbow, instead a raised eyebrow and a grin is shot in Rhaelyn's direction, before his attention to turns to the goldrider, "Yes ma'am. It is Elgin. Is everyone enjoying the gather?" His gaze flickers back to Rhaelyn as she adjusts the dress, "Beautiful dress, Rhaelyn." Then he pauses thoughtfully, "Who was that?" Indicating the girl that stormed off a minute ago.

Lujayn hasn't had her question answered, either; she doesn't press Rhaelyn for any explanation just yet. "Supposedly one of your fellow candidates," The woman watches to make sure Ylynna loses herself in the crowd before giving her full attention to the other two. "Thought so - I'm Lujayn. I think we can make a day of it as long as the rain stays off. You're enjoying yourself too?"

"Ain't my place to go into it," Taikrin brushes off Nathalia's question about Teris, instead choosing to go on about the woes of a weyrling's life. "For, like, a /turn/. 'Cause the hatchlings are in your head, and I reckon they don't /understand/ about why your mind is getting all weird, y'know? You could really flip them out, and then, well, awful things could happen. They get okay with it, when they get older and they can understand more." She wiggles her emtpy wine cup at Nathalia in mute testament. "But until then? Nothing. Not even a /sip/. Terrible."

"That was Ylynna." Rhaelyn supplies a name for Elgin on the heels of Lujayn's answer. It's a better time to answer the question once the other girl is off with her friends, "Yes, this dress, and the one I wore yesterday. The deal was, dresses for the gather and I'd spend some time meeting her friends." She shrugs a little, "That is how the weyr does things. Trade for goods with actions." Not a question. As for how she's enjoying it, there's a little shrug of her shoulders, "There are a lot of people." But fun? Perhaps not.

Nathalia responds "Shards and shells," The smith breathes horrified at the thought. "And I thought candidacy was bad." She sighs, listening to the testament of weyrlinghood with apt attention. "What's it like, having Szad in your head? I mean, does having him make up for all the chores and what not?" She seems thoughtful.

"It is a new experience, and one I am grateful to be having but a little loud." Elgin's tone is light and he offers a smile to the goldrider; a smile which promptly falls at Rhaelyn's comment. He studies her quietly for a moment, "Rhae - Just becareful with all that. It doesn't always work out well." Exhibit A. "You do look good in it though." He turns Lujayn and shrugs softly, "There are so many people sleeping in the barracks I couldn't tell you if someone belonged in them or not."

"Chores? Like, candidate chores?" Apparently that question is funny too, because Taikrin is guffawing again. "They never really were a thing. I'm used to way harder work, y'know? Reckon you'd be, too." But her gaze goes distant when she ponders Szadath and her bond, and she's quiet a moment before giving a noncommital shrug. "Hard to remember not havin' him in my head, t'be honest. Feels like he's always been there, like he's-- I mean, he's a part of me. And I'm a part of him." She pauses, then lets out another laugh to dismiss the sober thought. "It sounds weirder than it is, when it gets put like that."

"Goods as in tithes for a Weyr's protection, sure, but dresses for.. that?" Lujayn's lip curls in distaste, not particularly convinced. "That's taking it to extremes." She adds quietly in agreement with Elgin's cautionary words. "A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl, right?" Sensing the lack of enthusiasm, she tries to stir some cheer into the air. "Have you gotten a chance to look at any of the booths? Sometimes hanging out with the crafters is more fun than rubbing elbows with holder snobs."

Rhaelyn beams at Elgin's compliment, "Well, then it's worth letting some of those mainlanders have a look at me then." At least she can put a good spin on things. "And, Ylynna said that it might make the holders have my sympathy for us exiles, if they could see us and know we were...'safe'." She lifts up her shoulders, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." And no one could accuse Rhae of not having exile benefits first in her thoughts--after herself. "I had some time last evening to look, oh and and there was the dress-booth--that was amazing." Slowly remembering the better parts of her outing. "I heard they were showing off some fancy livestock too, but couldn't get free to see what the fuss was about."

Nathalia offers a thoughtful nod. "I suppose that's true, what did you do before you impressed?" She asks mildly, before the conversation turns to lifemates. "I've thought so much about it lately, and I still can't fathom it." She notes with a laugh. "Weird maybe, but it makes sense, I think it would be nice to have that kind of a bond. One 'person' who always has your back you know?"

"Oh, you know. Bit of this and that. I'm mine-bred, y'know." Taikrin flashes her free hand at Nathalia, wiggling fingers that bear the stereotypiacl traceries of thin white scars. "There's nothin' else like it. Better'n running with a crew, better'n your best girl, better'n-- well. Anything else. So you better sleep more and worry about Rhaelyn less; dragons like a well-rested candidate." She pauses, then adds with a bit of exasperation, "Hey, listen, you ain't seen Riorde around, have you? Island-girl, 'bout my height, dark hair? Been lookin' for her, and Szad says she's /here/ but he won't tell me where."

"Know we are safe by wearing dresses?" Elgin seems skeptical at best, and he crosses his arms, "Though it would be nice if some people would stop treating us like we have a disease they might catch. - Just not sure renting yourself for someone to show their friends is the best way to go about it." He stops short of saying she whored herself out. "There is a whole booth of dresses?" He grins slightly, "I wonder if there is one for robes, the thought of having to sew a white robe doesn't sound all that appealing."

Nathalia grins. "Mine bred huh? Remind me to buy you a drink sometime. If it weren't for the mines I wouldn't have any marks at all to spend." At mention of Rhaelyn she just sorta shrugs. "Not really worried about her, and yeah I suppose I can try and sleep, but night time here is just so shelling interesting." The girls brows pull together a moment at mention of the Island woman. "No I haven't but. . . how does Szad know she's here? Did he spot her?"

"They'll get there." Lujayn stops the stop-short, sensitive. "It's not their approval that'll get you anywhere, either. Just as long as you do what you're comfortable with, it's no one's business." She grins, still trying to smooth things over. "We'll supply you some old robes and you can fix them up if you want. Doesn't take a master weaver to sew up a tear," Reassuring Elgin, "But they probably have non-candidate robes, something more like cloaks or jackets. But it never hurts to be prepared, there's a good idea."

"Happy to get a drink, while you're still allowed," Taikrin agrees distractedly. She's scanning over the crowds again, her forehead wrinkling. "Can sense her. They can feel the minds of people they're familiar with, sometimes, sort of-- I ain't explainin' it right. But he knows she's around, somewhere. I really oughta-- be good, okay? Don't go lettin' the holders rile you up?" Because just like that, she's offering a wave to Nathalia and diving back into the crowd.

Rhaelyn rolls her eyes, "Nevermind Elgin." She drawls at him, too weary to get into a sparring match about choices that have already been played out. She smiles happily, soothed it seems. "Sorry Elgin, I was only looking at dresses." But it seems that Lujayn has better information, her smile widens even more, "Perhaps you could come along and show Elgin? I mean, unless he'd like a fixer-upper."

"Oh, well that seems easier, besides I'm sure I can talk one of the older islanders into fixing it for me." Could any granny say no to Elgin's face? "I don't mind the hand me down jackets." Elgin comments off hand, "They work just fine, what other kinds of booths do they have? Food?" The young male's stomach growls at just the thought of food. "Naw, I don't mind a fixer-upper, no point in spending marks on it if I can get it without 'em."

Beer finished, Nathalia smiles to the brown rider. "Certianly!" She furrows her brow a minute "I will be on my best behavior from this point on Promise." She offers at the retreating brown rider. Getting up, it seems she notices that the crowd she'd been avoiding has dispersed leaving that Lujayn, Rhaelyn, and it seems she finally notices Elgin's arrival. "Hi Elgin." She offers with a smile as she makes her way over, a polite smile and a wave for the goldrider.

"Food, and lots of it. Some crafters set up booths - harpers might sell smaller instruments, smiths with their metalworks, that kind of thing. Most folks come for eating and chatting," Lujayn points out the fairly obvious, nodding as Nathalia approaches. "Glad to see you're having a fine day." She doesn't act on any introductions herself. It does get tiring after the first few times. "Lots of people waste marks for the sake of appearance." The goldrider smiles at Elgin: more good thinking. "Not too fussed about that, I take it. I'd worry more about what happens on the day you need to wear the thing."

Rhaelyn agrees with the goldrider's information about the food with a nod, "I don't know who likes some of that food though. They had me eat a...what did she call it, a 'pepper'. From Ista I think." She fans at her face with a tragic look for the memory. As Nat comes to join them, she lifts a hand in silence. In a lull in the conversation she says, "Thanks. About earlier." Since she couldn't say anything at the time.

"Nathalia, how long have you been here?" Elgin supplies a friendly wave for his fellow candidate. "I can't get enough food these days, I would try anything. Never know what you might like. What was wrong with the pepper, Rhae?" Shifting his weight from one side to the other he nods at the goldrider, "Really seems like the least important part, not unimportant, just you know with everything else the potential life changing experience, the trying not to get run over by a hatchling..."

"Lujayn right? I am Nat," Nathalia offers in way of introductions, perhaps realizing that she'd forgotten her manners. As a thank you escapes Rhaelyn the smith just blinks a minute in surprise. "Your welcome. I . . . uh . . . sorry." She offers a shrug perhaps for any complications that might have followed. At Elgin's question there's a bright grin. "Long enough to get myself into trouble and out of it. Oh I have some things for Aella that I got yesterday. Maybe you could give them to her?" She remembers. She laughs at the thought of not getting run over by hatchlings.

Lujayn takes a slight step back, letting the younger lot catch up with each other. "If it makes you feel better, they don't aim for you intentionally. Not for the sake of running you over, that is." She smiles warmly. "Good to meet you, Nat. Promise I'm not avoiding you, but I need to sit down for a bit; it's been a long day. I'll be around for most of it, if you want to find me." The rider ducks out with a wave, headed for the long rows of benches where wine and conversation flow.

----

"Oh, I doubt we'd get front row seats. They'd be reserved for-" Ali pauses to come up with a suitable description. "-more important people. I'd rather avoid any Bloods, if I can, they're-" the Fortian trails off abruptly and there's a flush to her cheeks as she seems to realize she's speaking out of turn. "Ahh, well. Let's pretend I never said that," she whispers hastily, chewing her lower lip. "There's the ledges- that's where the dragons watch from." The raven-haired woman is more than happy to focus on another topic, however, twisting in her seat to peer at the indicated couple. "Maybe you just need to find someone /else/ to escort you, where he can see?"

Nathalia nods. "My favorite spot in the whole Galleries actually, plus it will be nice to have friends cheering for us." Nat adds. "Surely a Gold Rider would merit such a seat? Even a Weyrling one." Nathalia notes with a sly smile. "No need to feel bashful on my account when speaking of their Ilk." Nat comforts the gold rider, with regards to bloods "Farnath knows I bloodied my share of them back at the Craft hall. They aren't all bad, but some. . ." She shrugs as the topic is diverted. "Oh he's probably off trying to find something shiny and impressive to win her over with. He's too shelling brassy for his own good." She laughs, though there is a smile at that thought.

Riorde heads in from High Reaches Hold.
Riorde has arrived.

Rhaelyn doesn't have anything to add to the comments about the blooded folks, but she is making note of what's said. There's a twinkle before she ducks her head slightly, "Huh. Well, I guess so long as I can sit with someone who can tell me what's going on, that will be great." As to the talk of the boy and ways to catch his attention, she laughs, "That sounds rather sneaky. Making someone jealous." Not that she's disapproving, oh no. Not until Nat speaks of sparkling things, "Oh fishbones! He really /is/ brassy. He's going to bite off more than he can chew sometime."

"You- you /bloodied/ them?" Ali stares at Nathalia, visibly horrified at the very thought. "You can't do that!" There's no doubt she means that figuratively rather than literally. It's distracted her enough from the conversation at hand that she leans back in her seat, fingers clutching at her mug, gaze flicking between the two Reachians as if regarding them anew. She's seated at one of the tables near the food stalls, talking with Nathalia and Rhaelyn.

There's a nod from the Smith. Though she frowns a bit. "I hope he doesn't but you know him. If He wasn't that way I wouldn't stand at making such a small fortune when he Impresses." She laughs. At the shocked gold rider there is just a sly smile. "Only the ones at the Hall, It was ah. . . a different environment there. They picked the fights, I just made sure I walked away. Most of them were too ashamed to admit a woman wooped their tails." Its an honest admission. "Haven't had to do that in quite some time though, not that I didn't want to punch that Ylynna or whatever her name was today. Really Talking about Islanders as though they were runner beasts." There's a click of her tongue.

Rhaelyn shakes her head, "Or you'll lose your shirt when he drags himself off the sands." Rhaelyn's sly smile hints that, at least in her mood this moment, it would be worthwhile seeing /that/ expression. Or, she's playing devil's advocate. There's no talk of the bloods being put in their place, until Ylynna is mentioned. Oddly the exile remarks of her 'friend', "She was not talking like we're runners. It was the foolish holders who were asking the dumb questions."

"You- you shouldn't do that," Ali says, her voice a little uneven, though there's a note of rebuke to her tone. "Even if they pick fights. You should be above that, and they- you have to respect their rank, Nathalia." Despite her earlier words it's clear the Fortian believes that very strongly. The Reachian's discussion of punching a woman unsettles her, and she clears her throat before something Rhaelyn says catches her attention. She's staring strangely at the girl for a moment, before she ventures, "You're- are you one of the exiles?"
Being caught out in the rain this morning seems like a not-so-good idea now, later on in the day; Riorde has resigned herself to slightly damp wool. Still, a dress is a dress, even a plain one, and a gather is a gather, and since she hasn't the marks to throw around and buy something new, Riorde makes the best of it. She comes tables and stalls, momentarily forgetting that she and Rhaelyn aren't close in her eagerness to share her day's finds with someone who knows her. "Rhae! Have you tasted the pies?"

"Wow Rhaelyn, didn't know you were interested in seeing me with my shirt off." Oh she knew what the islander probably meant but she just shrugs. "I respect that which deserves respect. And there are Holders I have a very high esteem for. But there are some things in this world which come down to a matter of right and wrong." She shrugs, gathering her empty dishes while standing. "Ali it's been a pleasure as always, Have a nice day Rhaelyn."

Nathalia goes home.
Nathalia has left.

Rhaelyn explains to Ali, for Nat's sake, "She's very...protective." Right? Rhae is protected. Or something. Amusement brightens her features and it only deepens at the rider's stare. She's spent two days standing around letting holders gawk at her, so she poses just so for the Fort rider sitting with them, "I am." The little smile offers an invitation for questions, but it's short lived. First Nathalia is departing and she gives a wave, and then Ri is coming to sit with her. "Pies? Nope. not yet." She motions to the meat, noodles, vegetable dish and fruit-skewers. "Are they worth it? Did you try the peppers?" And at the very end she makes introductions, "Ali, this is Riorde. Riorde, this is Ali, Fort Weyr's newest goldrider. Is that the right way to say it?"

Ali turns her head to stare after the departing candidate, looking unsettled still, as she makes an unconscious show of adjusting her shawl. "Protective?" she echoes, as her attention shifts back towards Rhaelyn. "You should- tell your friend, she can't solve everything with her fists. At the end of day, they will still be Blooded." Rhaelyn's admission flusters the Fortian, and she takes a sip of her juice to give herself an opportunity to compose herself. "I- sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You're not what I expected." If she was intending to leap on that invitation and ask a question, it's precluded by Riorde's arrival, and she offers a smile to the arriving woman. "I'm still a weyrling- but yes, that's right. Pleased to meet you, Riorde."

Taikrin's been spotted making the rounds several times now; over the course of the day, her fancy leather pants have gotten specked with mud, and there are errant droplets of red wine marring her oh-so-shiny shirt. She shifts the package under her arm, scowling her displeasure at the crowds. But then the crowd swirls in just the right way that she gets a clear shot of Riorde. It's like the sun coming out: she breaks out into a grin and heads over, nevermind that she's approaching Rhaelyn's table. The brownrider appears to be trying for sneaky; she's lined up to be directly behind Riorde, and stalks as close as she can manage -- wiggling eyebrows all the while to try to get across her intention to whomever might be watching -- and reaches out to grab Riorde's shoulder.

"They have fruit in them," Riorde says informatively, like it's an important detail rather than something mundane. "Well--there were meat ones too, but I had fruit. Peppers?" Riorde is still discovering food in all its many varieties, so peppers (along with the contents of Rhaelyn's plate) gets more attention than Ali, at least at first. "Nice to meet you," she says automatically, but more interesting to her than Ali's rank and name is the statement preceding: "You can /try/ to solve things with your fists." A sly glance goes sideways to Rhaelyn. With her focus on seeing how the other islander girl takes the dig--or is it a joke?--she completely misses Taikrin coming up behind her. Riorde startles, head whipping around. Fortunately, she doesn't follow with a fist, and after the initial moment of surprise, relaxes into a grin. "Hi."

As Ali speaks of not solving conflicts with fists, Rhae chuckles, "I'm afraid that she would only be angry with me if I tried to censor her. She'd take it as some insult from me." As for Riorde's own remark about the fighting to solve things, her nose crinkles, but the smile from the other girl seems to prevent any fire coming into her reply, "Usually you don't get the right results though." She doesn't notice Taikrin until Ri startles and she gives the brownrider a nod of greeting before turning her attention back to Ali, "Don't worry, you haven't caused an insult. I am curious...what you expected though." She is dressed rather fine (too fine?) and groomed to insure she looks cultured rather than some island savage.

Ali's brow creases at Riorde's response, and opens her mouth to answer before she catches the glance between the two islanders. Although she might not understand the content, she's cognizant enough to know she's missing something. Instead, she sips her juice, watching the pair, unaware of Taikrin's arrival until Riorde reacts, and as they great each other, she fixes her attention on Rhaelyn. "Angry at you for advice?" the Fortian echoes, visibly confused by this. Her unease lingers, though she tries to cover it with a faint smile in response to Rhaelyn. "Just- rumors," she says, as if to try and dismiss it. "I didn't credit that you wore freshly killed animal skins, but I did wonder if you were- taller," she exhales a smile that is just a little embarrassed.

"Hey," Taikrin responds, grinning crookedly at her success. She even includes Rhaelyn and Ali in the gesture, adding, "Rhaelyn and, uh, Fort. Y'don't mind if I join, do you?" Without waiting even a courtesy second for a response, she flops down in the chair beside Riorde. The cloth-wrapped package is set down on the table between them with a muffled thump, and she glances over at the other two before commenting, "I was lookin' for you, feels like all day. Havin' a good time?" And, because she can't contain herself, "I got you somethin'."

"You were?" Riorde doesn't mean to completely ignore the other two, but as Taikrin sits down, she has very little attention to spare for anyone else. "It's incredible," she answers enthusiastically. "Never seen so much in one place. Also went round to see the water." Further descriptions will have to wait--"Me?" Wide-eyed delight; Riorde's usual guardedness has been shucked clean off by the gather. She spares a second to glance back at Ali, catching her interest in the exiles' former life. "Fishscales," corrects Riorde, not helping things. "Occasionally shipfish hide." Nevermind that they didn't frequent the waters near their islands; it makes a good lie. "We didn't have animals."

"She doesn't trust me. Our friendship is fragile." Rhaelyn remarks with a little shrug. She doesn't state whom, it could be Nathalia or Riorde but more than likely both if the look she slides over at Riorde is any indication. As for Taikrin, the exile just watches her, neither approving nor rejecting her joining them. To Ali's remark of skins she chuckles and adds to Ri's comment of fish-hides, "Well, no animals aside from fish and crbs. Worn more animal skins since I've been on the mainland than ever in my life. They are so soft." Though she didn't answer about the peppers earlier, she does so now, when she catches a break in the reunion of the pair, "The vender there has the peppers, if you want to try them. Ask for the Ista type."

Now that she has a chance to view the brownrider, Ali lifts her hand in a habitual salute to Taikrin. "Fort's duties," the woman murmurs, her gaze drawn to the package the brownrider sets down on the table. She leaves the matter of invitation to Rhaelyn, as the first here, and instead says, "Well, I- I don't know what it's like out on the Western isles. This gather's the first time I've been out of the Fort area at all," she confesses, spreading her hands. "You must be loving all the meat, then. I admit, I did eat a lot of herdbeast yesterday- just for a change of pace. We've been a bit short the last Turn or so. Have you tried the Southern fruits? They're so- juicy."

"Yeah, for you. Who else? It's a gather, ain't it? I reckon you ought to have somethin' /new/, so..." Taikrin shrugs, a hint of flush entering her cheeks; is she embarrased? She glances at Ali and Rhaelyn again, the injects, "Szad's can send your queen the image, if you feel like explorin' out there. Mostly just cold and wet, though." Beat. "'m Taikrin, by the by. Missed your name." Meanwhile, she's cutting looks over at Riorde and nudging the cloth-wrapped package over her way and asideing, "G'wan, open it." Underneath the wrappings is a beltknife that looks half-dagger. It's plain but well-made, the sort of thing someone who gets in a lot of knife fights might like to own. Not flashy, just solid craftmanship.

"Ista peppers. Thanks." Riorde, forgivably distracted, would likely deny friendship, but due to how little attention she currently pays Rhaelyn, the comment goes uncontested. There's a present to unwrap after all. From the way Riorde looks at it, it's safe to assume that presents were few and far between on the islands--if given at all. How could they, when there was precious little to give? She gingerly pulls off the wrapping, and then sits still in stunned pleasure as the beltknife is revealed, as obviously thrilled as other girls would be over jewellery. "Oh--it's /perfect./" Her expression doesn't dim a whit as she turns towards Taikrin with every intention of kissing her, even if it's right there in public.

Rhaelyn lifts one of the little skewers pegged with star shaped fruit and melon. "Southern fruits? I don't know if I have. That is, no one has expressly told me the fruit we have is southern fruit." For all she knows what she's eating now might be the very thing. "On the island it was mostly fish." She tells the goldrider, since the other women are caught up in each other and the gift. "Many of us were very sick trying to adjust to all the food you mainlanders have. You have so much...excess."

"That's all right. You seem busy with your friend," Ali demurs at Taikrin's offer. Even though she hasn't yet finished her juice, she rises. "I'm sorry, I should- go find my fellows. I'm due another dance, I think. It was lovely to meet you, Rhaelyn, and-" she tips her head at Riorde and Taikrin as if to include them, but doesn't interrupt, especially as her gaze lights on the beltknife and hastily flicks away. The sudden haste that follows might have something to do with the kiss, or might not. Hard to say, as the Fortian's quick in disappearing into the crowd.

Ali has left.

"Glad you like it." There's still a flush to Taikrin's cheeks, but now she looks insufferably pleased with herself--- and oh look, she's being kissed. Not that she seems to mind, given her enthusiasm. She even misses Ali's hasty excuses, though the goldrider's departure is enough to prompt her to pull back a little to murmur, "I ought to buy you things more often, clearly." Her gaze flicks towards Rhaelyn measuringly, as if to check on her reaction, then back to offer her most charmingly lopsided smile to Riorde.

Belatedly, Riorde seems to realise that there are other people around, including ones who might not appreciate seeing her kiss another girl--or girls kissing girls in general. Caught between separate inclinations to express herself as she sees fit, flaunt herself in a show of rebellion, and maintain a sort of reserve, Riorde breaks off with a sudden flush of her own and a smile that is slightly embarrassed. "Thank you," she settles for, and moves to jostle Rhaelyn with her elbow. "Look!" A /knife./ As if fists weren't enough. "What were you saying about excess?"

Rhaelyn's only reaction is to watch the departure of the goldrider with disappointment. She isn't paying any real attention to the couple, or at least not showing any opinion about them or their activities. She takes another bite of fruit but when the elbow comes to judge her she jerks a look at Riorde and scoots out of reach of any additional contact. "I see. Yes. Nice." SHe does look at the blade and then the pair before getting to her feet. "I'll just leave you two...to it." And off she goes.

Taikrin leans over to offer an overly-broad smile at Rhaelyn, adding, "Ain't it nice?" She shifts back into her seat, elbows on the table and legs sprawled as only one who is supremely pleased with herself can muster. "Don't feel like you got to go running off, Rhaelyn, really. Reckon we can probably manage to keep most of our clothes on. Probably." And now she's half-leering at Riorde again, to drive the point home.

"Isn't it?" says Riorde brightly, like being in possession of a nice, new knife doesn't pose any sort of a threat. "See you later." Also not a threat. Right? She picks up the blade, looking at it from all angles and testing its weight. Taikrin's remark garners a smirking smile. Then, with Rhaelyn gone, she adopts a casual tone. "So, any plans for the rest of the day?"

Rhaelyn has left.

Taikrin certainly doesn't seem to see the threat in it towards Rhaelyn... or maybe she's just ignoring it, for humor's sake. Either way, once the other exile has left, she's free to be as relaxed as she wants; her tension was only apparent after it drains out of her. "Plannin' on seeing the gather, maybe doin' some dancing. Havin' some more to drink, too." Beat. "Planning on doing that with /you/, unless you got somewhere else to be."

"Somewhere else, on my last of only two days of freedom?" Riorde scoffs at the idea after a quick look of gratification that her company is wanted; Riorde's learned not to assume, practices it determinedly. "I have to make it last, you know?"

"Well, you know, like-- if you got friends or your family or whatever lookin' for you." Taikrin half-shrugs, only a slight twisting of her lips giving hint to how displeased she might be by that event. "Know what you mean. First gather and all-- anything you missed seeing that you want, yet? Or-- did you dance? Do you-- want to?"

"I already lost my escort," Riorde says rather carelessly. More responsibly though still nonchalant, she goes on, "Suppose I should let her know I haven't run off without an intention of coming back or something. Rania, that's her name." First intrigued, flattered, and then self-conscious, Riorde grapples with how to respond to the suggestion of dancing. "Yes, but-- I don't know any dances." Not entirely true; a version of a waltz survived on the island, but not knowing if it's the same here as there, she skirts the truth.

"That's my girl," Taikrin remarks fondly at this talk of losing escorts, though she's quick to add, "Rania? Easy enough to take care of. I'll just have Szad tell her dragon that we're taking over, and--" Her gaze goes distant, lips compressing in brief effort, then dissolves into a grin again. "-- done. Convenient, ain't they?" Dragons: like texting, only better. "Ehhh, I don't know a lot of them. Or... I don't know 'em /proper/; I can manage most of the guy parts okay, if you feel like trying. Maybe after a skin of wine, though?" Which hopefully Riorde wants, because Taikrin is already flagging down one of the more amibitous vendors who's walking the crowd to hawk his wares.

Does Taikrin know how comments like that, not to mention gifts, compound the crush Riorde's trying so hard to play off coolly and casually? The younger woman tries to restrain the delight in her smile and only partially succeeds. "Sure," she says bravely, talking about the dance but letting it include the suggestion of wine, which she nods to. "If I don't know them proper either, then it'll even out. Maybe one of those peppers that Rhaelyn was talking about, too?"

Taikrin shifts in her seat, leaning way back to dig a hand into her leather pants, then retrives a couple of mark pieces from what must be a hidden interior pocket. "Skin of red," she orders of the teenage boy festooned with wine skins, offering him one mark piece, while flashing another. "Lady here wants to try some peppers-- you go get us some, and it'll be worth your while, promise." The boy seems eager for the marks in Taikrin's hand, and trusts enough in her knot that he dashes off to go and make the arrangements. "It ain't like we're tryin' to impress nobody," she offers off-handedly, then smirks. "'Sides, we'll look way better'n the lot of 'em doing it, anyways. You got a good dancin' dress."

Riorde looks gratified as the boy promptly runs off to get her peppers. "If gathers always have this much food to try, I'll go to every one," she declares before Taikrin's latter comment cues Riorde's self-consciousness; she glances down at herself and can't help but smooth the gray-brown wool over her knees. "Think so? Nothing like Rhaelyn's. It's just from stores. I was here yesterday, just in something everyday, and all the other girls had dresses on - didn't want to stick out."

"Always. The ones in the end of summer are worse, on account of all the stuff that's done." Taikrin keeps half an eye on the boy, but otherwise her attention is pretty much on looking that dress up and down. "Rhaelyn looks dressed up like she's got something to sell," Taikrin dismisses, a glower flickering briefly across her pale face. "I didn't think about it-- should've, when I went to pick this up." Fingers flick at her shirt, in particular at the smattering of wine stains on one sleeve. "I'll take you, if you're interested. Dresses ain't somethin' /I/ wear, but I like lookin' at you in this one." Aww. It's charming. Sort of. "Don't pay those holder girls any mind. They ain't worth the thought, most of 'em."

"What stuff?" Riorde's intrigued, not put off. "Rhaelyn compensates," she says, prompted to explain her view of the other girl from an odd loyalty despite professed and very real dislike. Leaving off her semi-nervous plucking at her dress, Riorde returns the perusal, glancing at the wine-stained sleeve but looking mostly at the overall outfit. "Deal," she agrees. "I'll wear a dress if you'll wear leathers like you are now. Looks good on you."

"Well, a lot of the fruit's in by then, so they're basically givin' away pies. And there's a lot more dancin', and everyone wears less, and then swimming in the water if it's /real/ nice. Races. Competitions. That sort of stuff." Taikrin manages to give the impression that it's all every day ho-hum sort of thing, though the way her lips are twitching into a smile of anticipation might ruin the effect. "Thanks," she remarks with quirked eyebrow. "Deal it is. And where is that--" No sooner has the brownrider turned to look then the boy is back, juggling not only a plate with Istan peppers, but two cups to go with the wine skin. Taikrin isn't stingy with the reward-- she drops a pair of 32nd marks into his hand as tip, then proceeds to start pouring. "Don't know as I've actually had these, yet."

Riorde manages to sound more skeptical than disbelieving as she follows Taikrin's descriptions of summer gathers with, "And that's /worse?/" She might quiz Taikrin further, but it'll have to be over food; despite how thin she is, Riorde can eat with gusto, which is just what she does prior to giddy, tipsy dancing.

For the most part, Taikrin is happy to watch Riorde eat; it's wine for her, primarily, to avoid being weighted down on the dance floor. Because whatever skill and dance-knowledge Taikrin might lack, she certainly makes up for in raw athleticism. She's likely to keep going until both are ready to fall over, too-- or the Harpers kick them out. Either way, it's a long night of fun ahead!
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Logs:Fun is serious business.

2013-02-07T07:07:02Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Elgin, Lujayn, Nathalia, Rhaelyn, Taikrin, Ylynna (NPC)
| where = Orchards, High Reaches Hold
| what = Lujayn tries to make sure that everyone has a Good Time at the gather. It's hard work.
| when = Day 14, month 5, turn 26
| gamedate = 2011.07.31
| quote = We have all of our teeth. For now.
| weather =
| categories = Gather, islanders, Exiles
| mentions =
| icons =
| log =
Ah, weyr-hold-craft relations have reached a new level. Rhaelyn utters a soft laugh at Nathalia's insults, or maybe it's the color that Ylynna is turning. No one could ever claim that Rhae cared much for anyone's feelings save her own right? "Don't you know who I am?" Ylynna asks from between her teeth. It's a smile, but a tight one, all teeth, "How -dare- you, you little bucket of tripe." There's a group of holders around Ylynna and Rhaelyn. The exile girl is dressed up in a glamorous red evening gown with jewels in her ears and in her pinned up hair. There's a side-show atmosphere as they have been gawking at the well-groomed exile on display, that is until the flinging of insults. "Nathalia...." Rhaelyn's voice is quiet, amused, but full of warning. Maybe it's too late for that though, the holders don't look too happy.

From Taikrin's wind-reddened cheeks, she hasn't been long at the gather. But at least she's groomed for it, more or less: well-tailored black leather pants, softer than a rider's usual fair, and a snug-fitting cream shirt of some sort of shimmery fabric. She /even/ had her hair freshly cut. She hasn't picked up much yet from the gather, aside from a cup of wine, when the sounds of a ruckus attracts her like a fly to honey. Just one more person to gawk, even if she's got rather more of a smirk on than most of them.

Nat just grins, probably more fun than she's had in months, considering how well behaved she's been. "No but let me take a wild guess, some supposedly privlaged holder brat who will likely as not be married off to promptly produce little bastards." There's an almost roar of a laugh. How dare she indeed. "Direct your complaints to the Smith Hall, though likely as not they will tell you the same thing I just did." And with a secret grin to Rhaelyn, the smith sets off to find something a little stronger than Klah to drink. Spotting Taikrin, there's a small frown but a friendly enough wave as she orders a mug of beer.

Lujayn heads in from High Reaches Hold.
Lujayn has arrived.

Ylynna gives Rhaelyn a look of warning, "Your pretty things can be taken away as quickly as they were 'given'." It's enough to make Rhae's shoulders tighten and her amusement fade. "That's right. Good girl." A few of the holders have thinned from the group though, lacking the stomach for any violence that is surely brewing. To Nathalia, Ylynna answers back with pompous retort, "I am Lady Highreaches niece! And a candidate. I'll be getting that gold dragon. You mark my words girlie-girl. And--and--you're a -Candidate-. I'm going to speak with the weyrleader about you running off with that mouth in front of all these fine hold people." The grin is pleased. Yes, she'll get nat in trouble! Meanwhile Rhae just stands there, arms crossing over her bejewed bodice front as a few other gather-goers sneak closer to peer at the exile.

A sardonic grin quirks Taikrin's lips at the rant from 'The Niece of High Reaches', though she doesn't linger. Rather, she cuts over to saunter towards Nathalia, drawing beside the girl with both eyebrows raised. "Y'know," she remarks conversationally, "Generally, it ain't considered good form for candidates to be rilin' up the hosts, even if the hosts are overbred and rude. She knocks back wine as if it were whiskey, then adds, "/Especially/ if you got t'share a barracks with 'em tonight. Never know when a girl like that's gonna get someone t'shank you in your sleep."

If the Smith catches the discourse between Rhaelyn and Ylynna it doesn't show on her features, though something clearly clicks in her head. Obviously finished with the Holder brat. She just shrugs. "Give Lady High Reaches my fondest regards, and by all means tell the Weyrleader. Unlike some I actually enjoy hard work." With that the gaggle of holders is ignored in favor of her beer and Taikrin. The smith looks up at the brownrider with a grin. "Yeah I suppose I will be scrubbing the latrines tomorrow, but shards and shells it will be worth it." In a quiter voice there's a small laugh. "Shanked? Hardly, I doubt there's anyone with the brass to do it. Well Rhaelyn might. . ." There's a laugh. "Some things though are just as simple as right and wrong, and nobody, not even Rhae deserves to be talked to like that."

Lujayn drifts along in the crowds of the gather, making tired small talk here and there with no inkling that the larger tide of curious ears is sweeping her towards a building conflict. It's more the tone and volume that catch her attention than the words themselves, and Lu strikes out on her own path to hedge at the quarrelers' heels. "Shells, what /is/ the matter here?" A glance to Taikrin as tiredness flares into irritation at the whole lot - can't she keep these girls in line? At least Nathalia looks removed. "Duties to your hold," She introduces herself abruptly to Ylynna. "Lujayn of gold Rielsath." She can't bring herself to make more scathing comments, but her gray eyes hold stormclouds. "It sounds like you'll be joining us soon? Congratulations."

Ylynna flicks a sharp 'shoo' flick of fingers after Nathila and makes sure she's not going to come back before turning back to Rhae. "Stop fussing. Unfold your arms." A quick adjustment of her dress and the side-show continues with a few new additions drifting past. "Lets see, where were we? Ah yes, as you can see, they are quite harmless." The contrast of the heated smith-candidate and the domesticated Rhaelyn makes a few of the holders murmur their agreement. "But maybe she simply doesn't understand." An older man suggests as he comes closer to get a better look. "Certainly looks healthy enough for a bag of bones. Do they have all their teeth?" Instead of answering the questions about the exiles, Ylynna must preen before the Highreaches rider, "Oh, Goldrider Lujayn." Pretty dimples for the lady, "I'm Ylynna." She doens't introduce Rhaelyn. "I've had the pleasure of your hospitality for a few weeks now. But it's so nice to visit home."

"Sure seems to me you got a thing for wanting t'be scrubbing latrines. You got some kinda weird fetish or something?" Taikrin is probably joking: nobody's smirk can be that insufferable while still maintaining a semblance of seriousness. "Anyways, in my experience it don't take much balls at all to go after some poor, sleeping sap. And, well... y'never know." A shoulder rises in a shrug, idly. "Good on you to be lookin' out for her, I guess, but I reckon you probably want to look out for yourself, more. Doubt her sort is gonna appreciate you stickin' your neck out." She twists to glance over her shoulder at the Rhaelyn/Ylynna spectacle, seems about to protest, but then notices Lujayn and subsides. To Nathalia, "There, Lujayn's got it all in hand now. Don't you worry none."

Nat laughs, "Nah no fetishes honest, I just figure no matter what I do I get into mischief anyway, may as well be preemptive about the chores that usually follow." She shrugs. There's a thoughtful expression for the comment. "Well between you and me I don't sleep much these days anyway." She follows Taikrin's glance to the now preening spectacle. "I suppose, but your right, she won't appreciate it. She's just as likely to spit venom at me for it. It isn't like I expected a thank you or anything for it either." She studies the brownrider thoughtfuly. "Is that what you do Taikrin? Look after yourself?" there's no accusation and certainly no venom. Just a mild tone and a curiosity in her eyes. "I expect that will be another gold rider I have now /not/ endeared myself too. This is becoming a bad habit."

Bag of bones? Teeth? "Thank you sir, we're very well," As if the man had been asking after their health and not sizing someone up like a runner. Lujayn's tone is clearly a dismissal to the crowd, turning her back on them. Lujayn is familiar with Rhaelyn, perhaps not personally but certainly enough so that she steps closer to the other girl. "You're not on display," Speaking directly to Rhae before hissing through her teeth to the preening git Ylynna. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you that as a candidate you're to respect all members of the Weyr. Why don't you find some dear old friend to visit? I daresay they've missed your charming ways." Heavy on the sarcasm.

"Better sleep now," Taikrin declares in no uncertain terms. "You end up with a dragon, you ain't gonna be sleepin' much the first month or two. Kinda like babies, wantin' to be fed and play and be oiled at all kinds o dumb hours." Nathalia's question draws the brownrider's full attention for likely the first time all conversation; though there's still the ghost of amusement sketched onto her face, there's something serious and measuring in the way her dark eyes lock onto the candidate's. "Look after me /and/ Szadath," she clarifies. "And the people who matter. And the ones what can't take care of themselves. And the hatchlings. Y'know, someone's got to do it." She doesn't turn to look back at Lujayn, but there is a temporary gravity shift as her attention pings over then back. "And /how/ can you not get on with Teris and Tiriana? They're easy."

Ylynna's fine show is slipping through her fingers. She makes a click sound of her teeth as the goldrider comes between herself and the exile-show. "She doens't mind it. Do you Rhaelyn?" It's a last grasp to keep the exile in her clutches for the attention it'll gain her. For a moment Rhaelyn is really stuck, side with the rider, or with the girl who made the bargain with her? "I didn't know that borrowing the dress and things was going to cut into so much gather time." The exile allows and looks to Lujayn, wary but thankful for chance to chew her leg out of the trap.

Elgin strides into the orchards to escape the noise from the courtyard, or at least as much as he can. This is his first trip out of the weyr since the exiles rescued and the usually confident boy is looking a little wary himself. His eyes dart between tables and tents but for the most part he is scanning the crowd for people he knows. Rhaelyn is spotted and he moves towards that group, "Hey Rhae..." His voice trailing off as the goldrider is given a salute. "Goldrider..."

Nat seems thoughtful. "Really? Hadn't thought of that. It's very different I guess, then again no guarantees that anybody impresses." Nat just meets those dark eyes unflinchingly but a smile works its way over her lips at the riders response. "The hatchlings and the ones who can't look after themselves. . ." She echoes as though confirming something, measuring Taikrin with that look. "Someone does, and usually it is a pretty thankless job." She agrees finally. "Well I haven't met Tiriana, but Teris seemed to take everything I said in the most offensive manner possible." She notes with a sigh, pulling a long drain from her mug. She does let her attention float back for a moment, but it returns back to the brown rider.

"This dress?" Lujayn finally notices that people tend to wear clothes. "We'll have it returned in good order by the end of the day, Ylynna. But I'd be happy to escort you to the Weyr if you'd rather have it back." An unpleasant threat, that: chores weighed against a good party. Elgin's arrival is the perfect excuse for the goldrider to ignore Miss-Highreaches-Niece, neatly excluding her from the new trio. "Let me know if you need anything," As an aside to Rhaelyn before the other candidate comes close enough to hear. She relaxes just a bit, a smile clearing through those storm-filled eyes. "Afternoon. Elgin, isn't it?"

/That/ little bit about Teris prompts a guffaw of laughter and a clap to Nathalia's shoulder with Taikrin's free hand. "That /does/ sound like Teris," she admits ruefully. "Don't /you/ take it personal. She's having a hard time, lately." She dumps the last of the wine down her throat, then draws the back of her hand across her mouth. A thought suddenly dawns, because she peers at Nathalia's mug with pursed lips. "Hey, you supposed to be drinkin' that? Or is it just weyrlings that ain't allowed? Don't know as I can remember the rules, but I know I remember /somethin'/ like that." Her expression melts away to reveal a lopsided grin. "Worst time of my life, I reckon, havin' to go dry."

Ylynna huffs a few empty, "But...it's too late. She's altered it. Ruined it." Ruined everything for the end of Ylynna's gather it seems. "I'll see -you- back at the weyr Rhaelyn." The voice is kind, the look is not. She brushes by Elgin with an elbow and off she goes to rejoin her friends, making no bones about dishing some dirt about how poorly the weyr is treating her after her 'kindness' to the savages. "Well, at least I don't have to say 'Weyr' again to them." Yes, she has an accent. Yes, the way she speaks is 'old and formal'. "Thank you. I think." And to Elgin she flashes a little smile, fixing the front of her bodice again, even with the alterations it swims on her.

Nat just smiles. "What has been going on with her Any how? Seems like a lot of folks have been extra prickly." She notes quietly. As her drink is spotted there is a blush from the crafter. "Just not supposed to get drunk I think, wait. . . you have to go /dry/ if you impress?" Clearly the thought had never occurred to her.

Elgin isn't sure what he walked into but he doesn't seem surprised when the stranger brushes passed him, though he does wince slightly at the elbow, instead a raised eyebrow and a grin is shot in Rhaelyn's direction, before his attention to turns to the goldrider, "Yes ma'am. It is Elgin. Is everyone enjoying the gather?" His gaze flickers back to Rhaelyn as she adjusts the dress, "Beautiful dress, Rhaelyn." Then he pauses thoughtfully, "Who was that?" Indicating the girl that stormed off a minute ago.

Lujayn hasn't had her question answered, either; she doesn't press Rhaelyn for any explanation just yet. "Supposedly one of your fellow candidates," The woman watches to make sure Ylynna loses herself in the crowd before giving her full attention to the other two. "Thought so - I'm Lujayn. I think we can make a day of it as long as the rain stays off. You're enjoying yourself too?"

"Ain't my place to go into it," Taikrin brushes off Nathalia's question about Teris, instead choosing to go on about the woes of a weyrling's life. "For, like, a /turn/. 'Cause the hatchlings are in your head, and I reckon they don't /understand/ about why your mind is getting all weird, y'know? You could really flip them out, and then, well, awful things could happen. They get okay with it, when they get older and they can understand more." She wiggles her emtpy wine cup at Nathalia in mute testament. "But until then? Nothing. Not even a /sip/. Terrible."

"That was Ylynna." Rhaelyn supplies a name for Elgin on the heels of Lujayn's answer. It's a better time to answer the question once the other girl is off with her friends, "Yes, this dress, and the one I wore yesterday. The deal was, dresses for the gather and I'd spend some time meeting her friends." She shrugs a little, "That is how the weyr does things. Trade for goods with actions." Not a question. As for how she's enjoying it, there's a little shrug of her shoulders, "There are a lot of people." But fun? Perhaps not.

Nathalia responds "Shards and shells," The smith breathes horrified at the thought. "And I thought candidacy was bad." She sighs, listening to the testament of weyrlinghood with apt attention. "What's it like, having Szad in your head? I mean, does having him make up for all the chores and what not?" She seems thoughtful.

"It is a new experience, and one I am grateful to be having but a little loud." Elgin's tone is light and he offers a smile to the goldrider; a smile which promptly falls at Rhaelyn's comment. He studies her quietly for a moment, "Rhae - Just becareful with all that. It doesn't always work out well." Exhibit A. "You do look good in it though." He turns Lujayn and shrugs softly, "There are so many people sleeping in the barracks I couldn't tell you if someone belonged in them or not."

"Chores? Like, candidate chores?" Apparently that question is funny too, because Taikrin is guffawing again. "They never really were a thing. I'm used to way harder work, y'know? Reckon you'd be, too." But her gaze goes distant when she ponders Szadath and her bond, and she's quiet a moment before giving a noncommital shrug. "Hard to remember not havin' him in my head, t'be honest. Feels like he's always been there, like he's-- I mean, he's a part of me. And I'm a part of him." She pauses, then lets out another laugh to dismiss the sober thought. "It sounds weirder than it is, when it gets put like that."

"Goods as in tithes for a Weyr's protection, sure, but dresses for.. that?" Lujayn's lip curls in distaste, not particularly convinced. "That's taking it to extremes." She adds quietly in agreement with Elgin's cautionary words. "A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl, right?" Sensing the lack of enthusiasm, she tries to stir some cheer into the air. "Have you gotten a chance to look at any of the booths? Sometimes hanging out with the crafters is more fun than rubbing elbows with holder snobs."

Rhaelyn beams at Elgin's compliment, "Well, then it's worth letting some of those mainlanders have a look at me then." At least she can put a good spin on things. "And, Ylynna said that it might make the holders have my sympathy for us exiles, if they could see us and know we were...'safe'." She lifts up her shoulders, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." And no one could accuse Rhae of not having exile benefits first in her thoughts--after herself. "I had some time last evening to look, oh and and there was the dress-booth--that was amazing." Slowly remembering the better parts of her outing. "I heard they were showing off some fancy livestock too, but couldn't get free to see what the fuss was about."

Nathalia offers a thoughtful nod. "I suppose that's true, what did you do before you impressed?" She asks mildly, before the conversation turns to lifemates. "I've thought so much about it lately, and I still can't fathom it." She notes with a laugh. "Weird maybe, but it makes sense, I think it would be nice to have that kind of a bond. One 'person' who always has your back you know?"

"Oh, you know. Bit of this and that. I'm mine-bred, y'know." Taikrin flashes her free hand at Nathalia, wiggling fingers that bear the stereotypiacl traceries of thin white scars. "There's nothin' else like it. Better'n running with a crew, better'n your best girl, better'n-- well. Anything else. So you better sleep more and worry about Rhaelyn less; dragons like a well-rested candidate." She pauses, then adds with a bit of exasperation, "Hey, listen, you ain't seen Riorde around, have you? Island-girl, 'bout my height, dark hair? Been lookin' for her, and Szad says she's /here/ but he won't tell me where."

"Know we are safe by wearing dresses?" Elgin seems skeptical at best, and he crosses his arms, "Though it would be nice if some people would stop treating us like we have a disease they might catch. - Just not sure renting yourself for someone to show their friends is the best way to go about it." He stops short of saying she whored herself out. "There is a whole booth of dresses?" He grins slightly, "I wonder if there is one for robes, the thought of having to sew a white robe doesn't sound all that appealing."

Nathalia grins. "Mine bred huh? Remind me to buy you a drink sometime. If it weren't for the mines I wouldn't have any marks at all to spend." At mention of Rhaelyn she just sorta shrugs. "Not really worried about her, and yeah I suppose I can try and sleep, but night time here is just so shelling interesting." The girls brows pull together a moment at mention of the Island woman. "No I haven't but. . . how does Szad know she's here? Did he spot her?"

"They'll get there." Lujayn stops the stop-short, sensitive. "It's not their approval that'll get you anywhere, either. Just as long as you do what you're comfortable with, it's no one's business." She grins, still trying to smooth things over. "We'll supply you some old robes and you can fix them up if you want. Doesn't take a master weaver to sew up a tear," Reassuring Elgin, "But they probably have non-candidate robes, something more like cloaks or jackets. But it never hurts to be prepared, there's a good idea."

"Happy to get a drink, while you're still allowed," Taikrin agrees distractedly. She's scanning over the crowds again, her forehead wrinkling. "Can sense her. They can feel the minds of people they're familiar with, sometimes, sort of-- I ain't explainin' it right. But he knows she's around, somewhere. I really oughta-- be good, okay? Don't go lettin' the holders rile you up?" Because just like that, she's offering a wave to Nathalia and diving back into the crowd.

Rhaelyn rolls her eyes, "Nevermind Elgin." She drawls at him, too weary to get into a sparring match about choices that have already been played out. She smiles happily, soothed it seems. "Sorry Elgin, I was only looking at dresses." But it seems that Lujayn has better information, her smile widens even more, "Perhaps you could come along and show Elgin? I mean, unless he'd like a fixer-upper."

"Oh, well that seems easier, besides I'm sure I can talk one of the older islanders into fixing it for me." Could any granny say no to Elgin's face? "I don't mind the hand me down jackets." Elgin comments off hand, "They work just fine, what other kinds of booths do they have? Food?" The young male's stomach growls at just the thought of food. "Naw, I don't mind a fixer-upper, no point in spending marks on it if I can get it without 'em."

Beer finished, Nathalia smiles to the brown rider. "Certianly!" She furrows her brow a minute "I will be on my best behavior from this point on Promise." She offers at the retreating brown rider. Getting up, it seems she notices that the crowd she'd been avoiding has dispersed leaving that Lujayn, Rhaelyn, and it seems she finally notices Elgin's arrival. "Hi Elgin." She offers with a smile as she makes her way over, a polite smile and a wave for the goldrider.

"Food, and lots of it. Some crafters set up booths - harpers might sell smaller instruments, smiths with their metalworks, that kind of thing. Most folks come for eating and chatting," Lujayn points out the fairly obvious, nodding as Nathalia approaches. "Glad to see you're having a fine day." She doesn't act on any introductions herself. It does get tiring after the first few times. "Lots of people waste marks for the sake of appearance." The goldrider smiles at Elgin: more good thinking. "Not too fussed about that, I take it. I'd worry more about what happens on the day you need to wear the thing."

Rhaelyn agrees with the goldrider's information about the food with a nod, "I don't know who likes some of that food though. They had me eat a...what did she call it, a 'pepper'. From Ista I think." She fans at her face with a tragic look for the memory. As Nat comes to join them, she lifts a hand in silence. In a lull in the conversation she says, "Thanks. About earlier." Since she couldn't say anything at the time.

"Nathalia, how long have you been here?" Elgin supplies a friendly wave for his fellow candidate. "I can't get enough food these days, I would try anything. Never know what you might like. What was wrong with the pepper, Rhae?" Shifting his weight from one side to the other he nods at the goldrider, "Really seems like the least important part, not unimportant, just you know with everything else the potential life changing experience, the trying not to get run over by a hatchling..."

"Lujayn right? I am Nat," Nathalia offers in way of introductions, perhaps realizing that she'd forgotten her manners. As a thank you escapes Rhaelyn the smith just blinks a minute in surprise. "Your welcome. I . . . uh . . . sorry." She offers a shrug perhaps for any complications that might have followed. At Elgin's question there's a bright grin. "Long enough to get myself into trouble and out of it. Oh I have some things for Aella that I got yesterday. Maybe you could give them to her?" She remembers. She laughs at the thought of not getting run over by hatchlings.

Lujayn takes a slight step back, letting the younger lot catch up with each other. "If it makes you feel better, they don't aim for you intentionally. Not for the sake of running you over, that is." She smiles warmly. "Good to meet you, Nat. Promise I'm not avoiding you, but I need to sit down for a bit; it's been a long day. I'll be around for most of it, if you want to find me." The rider ducks out with a wave, headed for the long rows of benches where wine and conversation flow.

----

"Oh, I doubt we'd get front row seats. They'd be reserved for-" Ali pauses to come up with a suitable description. "-more important people. I'd rather avoid any Bloods, if I can, they're-" the Fortian trails off abruptly and there's a flush to her cheeks as she seems to realize she's speaking out of turn. "Ahh, well. Let's pretend I never said that," she whispers hastily, chewing her lower lip. "There's the ledges- that's where the dragons watch from." The raven-haired woman is more than happy to focus on another topic, however, twisting in her seat to peer at the indicated couple. "Maybe you just need to find someone /else/ to escort you, where he can see?"

Nathalia nods. "My favorite spot in the whole Galleries actually, plus it will be nice to have friends cheering for us." Nat adds. "Surely a Gold Rider would merit such a seat? Even a Weyrling one." Nathalia notes with a sly smile. "No need to feel bashful on my account when speaking of their Ilk." Nat comforts the gold rider, with regards to bloods "Farnath knows I bloodied my share of them back at the Craft hall. They aren't all bad, but some. . ." She shrugs as the topic is diverted. "Oh he's probably off trying to find something shiny and impressive to win her over with. He's too shelling brassy for his own good." She laughs, though there is a smile at that thought.

Riorde heads in from High Reaches Hold.
Riorde has arrived.

Rhaelyn doesn't have anything to add to the comments about the blooded folks, but she is making note of what's said. There's a twinkle before she ducks her head slightly, "Huh. Well, I guess so long as I can sit with someone who can tell me what's going on, that will be great." As to the talk of the boy and ways to catch his attention, she laughs, "That sounds rather sneaky. Making someone jealous." Not that she's disapproving, oh no. Not until Nat speaks of sparkling things, "Oh fishbones! He really /is/ brassy. He's going to bite off more than he can chew sometime."

"You- you /bloodied/ them?" Ali stares at Nathalia, visibly horrified at the very thought. "You can't do that!" There's no doubt she means that figuratively rather than literally. It's distracted her enough from the conversation at hand that she leans back in her seat, fingers clutching at her mug, gaze flicking between the two Reachians as if regarding them anew. She's seated at one of the tables near the food stalls, talking with Nathalia and Rhaelyn.

There's a nod from the Smith. Though she frowns a bit. "I hope he doesn't but you know him. If He wasn't that way I wouldn't stand at making such a small fortune when he Impresses." She laughs. At the shocked gold rider there is just a sly smile. "Only the ones at the Hall, It was ah. . . a different environment there. They picked the fights, I just made sure I walked away. Most of them were too ashamed to admit a woman wooped their tails." Its an honest admission. "Haven't had to do that in quite some time though, not that I didn't want to punch that Ylynna or whatever her name was today. Really Talking about Islanders as though they were runner beasts." There's a click of her tongue.

Rhaelyn shakes her head, "Or you'll lose your shirt when he drags himself off the sands." Rhaelyn's sly smile hints that, at least in her mood this moment, it would be worthwhile seeing /that/ expression. Or, she's playing devil's advocate. There's no talk of the bloods being put in their place, until Ylynna is mentioned. Oddly the exile remarks of her 'friend', "She was not talking like we're runners. It was the foolish holders who were asking the dumb questions."

"You- you shouldn't do that," Ali says, her voice a little uneven, though there's a note of rebuke to her tone. "Even if they pick fights. You should be above that, and they- you have to respect their rank, Nathalia." Despite her earlier words it's clear the Fortian believes that very strongly. The Reachian's discussion of punching a woman unsettles her, and she clears her throat before something Rhaelyn says catches her attention. She's staring strangely at the girl for a moment, before she ventures, "You're- are you one of the exiles?"
Being caught out in the rain this morning seems like a not-so-good idea now, later on in the day; Riorde has resigned herself to slightly damp wool. Still, a dress is a dress, even a plain one, and a gather is a gather, and since she hasn't the marks to throw around and buy something new, Riorde makes the best of it. She comes tables and stalls, momentarily forgetting that she and Rhaelyn aren't close in her eagerness to share her day's finds with someone who knows her. "Rhae! Have you tasted the pies?"

"Wow Rhaelyn, didn't know you were interested in seeing me with my shirt off." Oh she knew what the islander probably meant but she just shrugs. "I respect that which deserves respect. And there are Holders I have a very high esteem for. But there are some things in this world which come down to a matter of right and wrong." She shrugs, gathering her empty dishes while standing. "Ali it's been a pleasure as always, Have a nice day Rhaelyn."

Nathalia goes home.
Nathalia has left.

Rhaelyn explains to Ali, for Nat's sake, "She's very...protective." Right? Rhae is protected. Or something. Amusement brightens her features and it only deepens at the rider's stare. She's spent two days standing around letting holders gawk at her, so she poses just so for the Fort rider sitting with them, "I am." The little smile offers an invitation for questions, but it's short lived. First Nathalia is departing and she gives a wave, and then Ri is coming to sit with her. "Pies? Nope. not yet." She motions to the meat, noodles, vegetable dish and fruit-skewers. "Are they worth it? Did you try the peppers?" And at the very end she makes introductions, "Ali, this is Riorde. Riorde, this is Ali, Fort Weyr's newest goldrider. Is that the right way to say it?"

Ali turns her head to stare after the departing candidate, looking unsettled still, as she makes an unconscious show of adjusting her shawl. "Protective?" she echoes, as her attention shifts back towards Rhaelyn. "You should- tell your friend, she can't solve everything with her fists. At the end of day, they will still be Blooded." Rhaelyn's admission flusters the Fortian, and she takes a sip of her juice to give herself an opportunity to compose herself. "I- sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You're not what I expected." If she was intending to leap on that invitation and ask a question, it's precluded by Riorde's arrival, and she offers a smile to the arriving woman. "I'm still a weyrling- but yes, that's right. Pleased to meet you, Riorde."

Taikrin's been spotted making the rounds several times now; over the course of the day, her fancy leather pants have gotten specked with mud, and there are errant droplets of red wine marring her oh-so-shiny shirt. She shifts the package under her arm, scowling her displeasure at the crowds. But then the crowd swirls in just the right way that she gets a clear shot of Riorde. It's like the sun coming out: she breaks out into a grin and heads over, nevermind that she's approaching Rhaelyn's table. The brownrider appears to be trying for sneaky; she's lined up to be directly behind Riorde, and stalks as close as she can manage -- wiggling eyebrows all the while to try to get across her intention to whomever might be watching -- and reaches out to grab Riorde's shoulder.

"They have fruit in them," Riorde says informatively, like it's an important detail rather than something mundane. "Well--there were meat ones too, but I had fruit. Peppers?" Riorde is still discovering food in all its many varieties, so peppers (along with the contents of Rhaelyn's plate) gets more attention than Ali, at least at first. "Nice to meet you," she says automatically, but more interesting to her than Ali's rank and name is the statement preceding: "You can /try/ to solve things with your fists." A sly glance goes sideways to Rhaelyn. With her focus on seeing how the other islander girl takes the dig--or is it a joke?--she completely misses Taikrin coming up behind her. Riorde startles, head whipping around. Fortunately, she doesn't follow with a fist, and after the initial moment of surprise, relaxes into a grin. "Hi."

As Ali speaks of not solving conflicts with fists, Rhae chuckles, "I'm afraid that she would only be angry with me if I tried to censor her. She'd take it as some insult from me." As for Riorde's own remark about the fighting to solve things, her nose crinkles, but the smile from the other girl seems to prevent any fire coming into her reply, "Usually you don't get the right results though." She doesn't notice Taikrin until Ri startles and she gives the brownrider a nod of greeting before turning her attention back to Ali, "Don't worry, you haven't caused an insult. I am curious...what you expected though." She is dressed rather fine (too fine?) and groomed to insure she looks cultured rather than some island savage.

Ali's brow creases at Riorde's response, and opens her mouth to answer before she catches the glance between the two islanders. Although she might not understand the content, she's cognizant enough to know she's missing something. Instead, she sips her juice, watching the pair, unaware of Taikrin's arrival until Riorde reacts, and as they great each other, she fixes her attention on Rhaelyn. "Angry at you for advice?" the Fortian echoes, visibly confused by this. Her unease lingers, though she tries to cover it with a faint smile in response to Rhaelyn. "Just- rumors," she says, as if to try and dismiss it. "I didn't credit that you wore freshly killed animal skins, but I did wonder if you were- taller," she exhales a smile that is just a little embarrassed.

"Hey," Taikrin responds, grinning crookedly at her success. She even includes Rhaelyn and Ali in the gesture, adding, "Rhaelyn and, uh, Fort. Y'don't mind if I join, do you?" Without waiting even a courtesy second for a response, she flops down in the chair beside Riorde. The cloth-wrapped package is set down on the table between them with a muffled thump, and she glances over at the other two before commenting, "I was lookin' for you, feels like all day. Havin' a good time?" And, because she can't contain herself, "I got you somethin'."

"You were?" Riorde doesn't mean to completely ignore the other two, but as Taikrin sits down, she has very little attention to spare for anyone else. "It's incredible," she answers enthusiastically. "Never seen so much in one place. Also went round to see the water." Further descriptions will have to wait--"Me?" Wide-eyed delight; Riorde's usual guardedness has been shucked clean off by the gather. She spares a second to glance back at Ali, catching her interest in the exiles' former life. "Fishscales," corrects Riorde, not helping things. "Occasionally shipfish hide." Nevermind that they didn't frequent the waters near their islands; it makes a good lie. "We didn't have animals."

"She doesn't trust me. Our friendship is fragile." Rhaelyn remarks with a little shrug. She doesn't state whom, it could be Nathalia or Riorde but more than likely both if the look she slides over at Riorde is any indication. As for Taikrin, the exile just watches her, neither approving nor rejecting her joining them. To Ali's remark of skins she chuckles and adds to Ri's comment of fish-hides, "Well, no animals aside from fish and crbs. Worn more animal skins since I've been on the mainland than ever in my life. They are so soft." Though she didn't answer about the peppers earlier, she does so now, when she catches a break in the reunion of the pair, "The vender there has the peppers, if you want to try them. Ask for the Ista type."

Now that she has a chance to view the brownrider, Ali lifts her hand in a habitual salute to Taikrin. "Fort's duties," the woman murmurs, her gaze drawn to the package the brownrider sets down on the table. She leaves the matter of invitation to Rhaelyn, as the first here, and instead says, "Well, I- I don't know what it's like out on the Western isles. This gather's the first time I've been out of the Fort area at all," she confesses, spreading her hands. "You must be loving all the meat, then. I admit, I did eat a lot of herdbeast yesterday- just for a change of pace. We've been a bit short the last Turn or so. Have you tried the Southern fruits? They're so- juicy."

"Yeah, for you. Who else? It's a gather, ain't it? I reckon you ought to have somethin' /new/, so..." Taikrin shrugs, a hint of flush entering her cheeks; is she embarrased? She glances at Ali and Rhaelyn again, the injects, "Szad's can send your queen the image, if you feel like explorin' out there. Mostly just cold and wet, though." Beat. "'m Taikrin, by the by. Missed your name." Meanwhile, she's cutting looks over at Riorde and nudging the cloth-wrapped package over her way and asideing, "G'wan, open it." Underneath the wrappings is a beltknife that looks half-dagger. It's plain but well-made, the sort of thing someone who gets in a lot of knife fights might like to own. Not flashy, just solid craftmanship.

"Ista peppers. Thanks." Riorde, forgivably distracted, would likely deny friendship, but due to how little attention she currently pays Rhaelyn, the comment goes uncontested. There's a present to unwrap after all. From the way Riorde looks at it, it's safe to assume that presents were few and far between on the islands--if given at all. How could they, when there was precious little to give? She gingerly pulls off the wrapping, and then sits still in stunned pleasure as the beltknife is revealed, as obviously thrilled as other girls would be over jewellery. "Oh--it's /perfect./" Her expression doesn't dim a whit as she turns towards Taikrin with every intention of kissing her, even if it's right there in public.

Rhaelyn lifts one of the little skewers pegged with star shaped fruit and melon. "Southern fruits? I don't know if I have. That is, no one has expressly told me the fruit we have is southern fruit." For all she knows what she's eating now might be the very thing. "On the island it was mostly fish." She tells the goldrider, since the other women are caught up in each other and the gift. "Many of us were very sick trying to adjust to all the food you mainlanders have. You have so much...excess."

"That's all right. You seem busy with your friend," Ali demurs at Taikrin's offer. Even though she hasn't yet finished her juice, she rises. "I'm sorry, I should- go find my fellows. I'm due another dance, I think. It was lovely to meet you, Rhaelyn, and-" she tips her head at Riorde and Taikrin as if to include them, but doesn't interrupt, especially as her gaze lights on the beltknife and hastily flicks away. The sudden haste that follows might have something to do with the kiss, or might not. Hard to say, as the Fortian's quick in disappearing into the crowd.

Ali has left.

"Glad you like it." There's still a flush to Taikrin's cheeks, but now she looks insufferably pleased with herself--- and oh look, she's being kissed. Not that she seems to mind, given her enthusiasm. She even misses Ali's hasty excuses, though the goldrider's departure is enough to prompt her to pull back a little to murmur, "I ought to buy you things more often, clearly." Her gaze flicks towards Rhaelyn measuringly, as if to check on her reaction, then back to offer her most charmingly lopsided smile to Riorde.

Belatedly, Riorde seems to realise that there are other people around, including ones who might not appreciate seeing her kiss another girl--or girls kissing girls in general. Caught between separate inclinations to express herself as she sees fit, flaunt herself in a show of rebellion, and maintain a sort of reserve, Riorde breaks off with a sudden flush of her own and a smile that is slightly embarrassed. "Thank you," she settles for, and moves to jostle Rhaelyn with her elbow. "Look!" A /knife./ As if fists weren't enough. "What were you saying about excess?"

Rhaelyn's only reaction is to watch the departure of the goldrider with disappointment. She isn't paying any real attention to the couple, or at least not showing any opinion about them or their activities. She takes another bite of fruit but when the elbow comes to judge her she jerks a look at Riorde and scoots out of reach of any additional contact. "I see. Yes. Nice." SHe does look at the blade and then the pair before getting to her feet. "I'll just leave you two...to it." And off she goes.

Taikrin leans over to offer an overly-broad smile at Rhaelyn, adding, "Ain't it nice?" She shifts back into her seat, elbows on the table and legs sprawled as only one who is supremely pleased with herself can muster. "Don't feel like you got to go running off, Rhaelyn, really. Reckon we can probably manage to keep most of our clothes on. Probably." And now she's half-leering at Riorde again, to drive the point home.

"Isn't it?" says Riorde brightly, like being in possession of a nice, new knife doesn't pose any sort of a threat. "See you later." Also not a threat. Right? She picks up the blade, looking at it from all angles and testing its weight. Taikrin's remark garners a smirking smile. Then, with Rhaelyn gone, she adopts a casual tone. "So, any plans for the rest of the day?"

Rhaelyn has left.

Taikrin certainly doesn't seem to see the threat in it towards Rhaelyn... or maybe she's just ignoring it, for humor's sake. Either way, once the other exile has left, she's free to be as relaxed as she wants; her tension was only apparent after it drains out of her. "Plannin' on seeing the gather, maybe doin' some dancing. Havin' some more to drink, too." Beat. "Planning on doing that with /you/, unless you got somewhere else to be."

"Somewhere else, on my last of only two days of freedom?" Riorde scoffs at the idea after a quick look of gratification that her company is wanted; Riorde's learned not to assume, practices it determinedly. "I have to make it last, you know?"

"Well, you know, like-- if you got friends or your family or whatever lookin' for you." Taikrin half-shrugs, only a slight twisting of her lips giving hint to how displeased she might be by that event. "Know what you mean. First gather and all-- anything you missed seeing that you want, yet? Or-- did you dance? Do you-- want to?"

"I already lost my escort," Riorde says rather carelessly. More responsibly though still nonchalant, she goes on, "Suppose I should let her know I haven't run off without an intention of coming back or something. Rania, that's her name." First intrigued, flattered, and then self-conscious, Riorde grapples with how to respond to the suggestion of dancing. "Yes, but-- I don't know any dances." Not entirely true; a version of a waltz survived on the island, but not knowing if it's the same here as there, she skirts the truth.

"That's my girl," Taikrin remarks fondly at this talk of losing escorts, though she's quick to add, "Rania? Easy enough to take care of. I'll just have Szad tell her dragon that we're taking over, and--" Her gaze goes distant, lips compressing in brief effort, then dissolves into a grin again. "-- done. Convenient, ain't they?" Dragons: like texting, only better. "Ehhh, I don't know a lot of them. Or... I don't know 'em /proper/; I can manage most of the guy parts okay, if you feel like trying. Maybe after a skin of wine, though?" Which hopefully Riorde wants, because Taikrin is already flagging down one of the more amibitous vendors who's walking the crowd to hawk his wares.

Does Taikrin know how comments like that, not to mention gifts, compound the crush Riorde's trying so hard to play off coolly and casually? The younger woman tries to restrain the delight in her smile and only partially succeeds. "Sure," she says bravely, talking about the dance but letting it include the suggestion of wine, which she nods to. "If I don't know them proper either, then it'll even out. Maybe one of those peppers that Rhaelyn was talking about, too?"

Taikrin shifts in her seat, leaning way back to dig a hand into her leather pants, then retrives a couple of mark pieces from what must be a hidden interior pocket. "Skin of red," she orders of the teenage boy festooned with wine skins, offering him one mark piece, while flashing another. "Lady here wants to try some peppers-- you go get us some, and it'll be worth your while, promise." The boy seems eager for the marks in Taikrin's hand, and trusts enough in her knot that he dashes off to go and make the arrangements. "It ain't like we're tryin' to impress nobody," she offers off-handedly, then smirks. "'Sides, we'll look way better'n the lot of 'em doing it, anyways. You got a good dancin' dress."

Riorde looks gratified as the boy promptly runs off to get her peppers. "If gathers always have this much food to try, I'll go to every one," she declares before Taikrin's latter comment cues Riorde's self-consciousness; she glances down at herself and can't help but smooth the gray-brown wool over her knees. "Think so? Nothing like Rhaelyn's. It's just from stores. I was here yesterday, just in something everyday, and all the other girls had dresses on - didn't want to stick out."

"Always. The ones in the end of summer are worse, on account of all the stuff that's done." Taikrin keeps half an eye on the boy, but otherwise her attention is pretty much on looking that dress up and down. "Rhaelyn looks dressed up like she's got something to sell," Taikrin dismisses, a glower flickering briefly across her pale face. "I didn't think about it-- should've, when I went to pick this up." Fingers flick at her shirt, in particular at the smattering of wine stains on one sleeve. "I'll take you, if you're interested. Dresses ain't somethin' /I/ wear, but I like lookin' at you in this one." Aww. It's charming. Sort of. "Don't pay those holder girls any mind. They ain't worth the thought, most of 'em."

"What stuff?" Riorde's intrigued, not put off. "Rhaelyn compensates," she says, prompted to explain her view of the other girl from an odd loyalty despite professed and very real dislike. Leaving off her semi-nervous plucking at her dress, Riorde returns the perusal, glancing at the wine-stained sleeve but looking mostly at the overall outfit. "Deal," she agrees. "I'll wear a dress if you'll wear leathers like you are now. Looks good on you."

"Well, a lot of the fruit's in by then, so they're basically givin' away pies. And there's a lot more dancin', and everyone wears less, and then swimming in the water if it's /real/ nice. Races. Competitions. That sort of stuff." Taikrin manages to give the impression that it's all every day ho-hum sort of thing, though the way her lips are twitching into a smile of anticipation might ruin the effect. "Thanks," she remarks with quirked eyebrow. "Deal it is. And where is that--" No sooner has the brownrider turned to look then the boy is back, juggling not only a plate with Istan peppers, but two cups to go with the wine skin. Taikrin isn't stingy with the reward-- she drops a pair of 32nd marks into his hand as tip, then proceeds to start pouring. "Don't know as I've actually had these, yet."

Riorde manages to sound more skeptical than disbelieving as she follows Taikrin's descriptions of summer gathers with, "And that's /worse?/" She might quiz Taikrin further, but it'll have to be over food; despite how thin she is, Riorde can eat with gusto, which is just what she does prior to giddy, tipsy dancing.

For the most part, Taikrin is happy to watch Riorde eat; it's wine for her, primarily, to avoid being weighted down on the dance floor. Because whatever skill and dance-knowledge Taikrin might lack, she certainly makes up for in raw athleticism. She's likely to keep going until both are ready to fall over, too-- or the Harpers kick them out. Either way, it's a long night of fun ahead!
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Logs:Making Trouble for Taikrin

2013-02-07T07:02:17Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Rhaelyn, Nathalia, Riorde, Devaki
| where = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin has apparently been stalking Rhaelyn, who has gathered some information of interest. Threats are made. Afterwards, there's an interlude with a firelizard.
| when = Late evening, day 7, month 6, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.08.08
| quote = Once you're a rider, everything before isn't important.
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32, Criminal Activity
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_uhhh.jpg, riorde.jpg, devaki.jpg
| log =

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
---
Nathalia heads in from the inner caverns.
Nathalia has arrived.

The dinner rush has come and gone and now it's late enough for people to filter in for late night snacks and dessert. Rhaelyn is standing at the serving table, eyeing a towering plate of cake wedges, trying to make her choice from the overwhelming selection. "I don't know why they have to make so -much-."

The glows have allowed to get a bit dim now that the crowds have receded, and some of the corner tables are shadowy indeed. It's at one of these that Taikrin reclines, alone, with boots kicked up onto the table and a flask resting against her legs. She nibbles on what might be a cookie, idly, and seems to be more or less fixated on watching Rhaelyn.

Straggling in, with a bottle under arm and a tired expression Nat snaps up a mug and looks for someplace to plop down. Spotting Taikrin with an amused glance, she pulls a chair out next to the brown rider. "Mind if I sit here?"

Rhaelyn picks up one of the red cakes with cream frosting. This goes onto her plate along with a slice of what could be lemon or citron cake. Then there are berries and whipped cream. To go with this plate of sugary delights, she gets a mug of steaming hot tea and goes to find a place to sit. If she notices anyone looking her way, there's no indication of minding. Passing by Nathalia she gives a nod and one for Taikrin too as she moves past.

If Taikrin is startled upon being spotted in her shadowy abode, she doesn't show it beyond an arched eyebrow at Nathalia. She gestures magnanimously at the seat across the way with her flask, offering, "Have a seat." Her attention is primarily fixed on Rhaelyn, though, to the point where she calls out, perhaps to halt her, "Rhaelyn. Enjoying your cake, yeah?"

Nat offers a nod in return for Rhaelyn, and plops down in the chair, studying Taikrin with muted puzzlement. The bottle is set on the table, and a bit is added to the mug. The smith seems about to say something but instead she just settles back and watches Rhaelyn and Taikrin.

The question does stall Rhaelyn's movement. One eyebrow goes up at Taikrin's question, her lips slanting upward into a child-like smile. "Haven't really tried it yet. I oh, I do plan on enjoying it. Every last crumb." Now it dawns on her that she has been watched and her eyebrows draw together over a suddenly puzzled gaze, "Plenty over there if you want some."

"Color me surprised," Taikrin drawls. "Me, figured you would'a tried everything already. I ain't much of a person for sweets." She emphasizes that with a sweeping gesture of her half-eaten cookie, then cuts a significant glance towards Nathalia before adding, "You get a good taste at the gather, then? Lots of sweets, there."

Riorde heads in from the inner caverns.
Riorde has arrived.

Nat takes a long drain from her mug, brows drawing together at the glance. "Not really hungry, but thanks for pointing it out Rhaelyn." The tone of appreciation seems genuine if cautious. "Yeah that gather was something else, I forgot how much I detested holders till then." The mug set down, and refilled as she speaks.

"Goes to show how little you know about me." Rhaelyn replies easily to the brownrider without hostility. The cookie is given a look, she hadn't been paying enough attention to notice it until she flourishes it. Then the attention switches to Nathalia, allowing her to answer that. A little nod of her head and she's turning away again, there's an empty table over there. Yay!

Apparently Taikrin isn't quite done with her, because no sooner has Rhaelyn turned away then she calls out again. "Apparently so." The brownrider's lips quirk in a little half-smile, despite her best efforts to suppress it. She acknowledges Nathalia's statement with a thoughtful nod, then turns it back to the exile with, "How'd /you/ find the holders? Not to your liking, either?"

Nat sighs, leaning over the table to offer the bottle. "You know, I don't get it." Her words are low, spoken softly. "You don't seem to follow your own advice too well you know. Why do you keep digging at her?" She sighs, before leaning back in her own chair.

Habits die hard. Riorde, quiet to enter, has the restless, half-wary look about her that makes an exile easy to spot, scanning the main caverns as soon as she steps foot inside the enormous open space. She works her way along the edges rather than stepping out into the middle, and at a certain point her pace quickens when she catches sight of Taikrin tucked into a corner. "Hey." The short greeting encompasses them all, but Riorde has a slight, singular smile for the brownrider. Her dark hair's in a knot lying at the nape of her neck, a wet giveaway - she just came from the baths.

Rhaelyn laughs softly, having kept Taikrin in the corner of her eye. She gives her head a turn, just enough to fix the look on her, to try to figure out what her sport might be. "Yeah. Right." She might not catch what Nathalia is saying, but just the lowering of her voice towards the brownrider and Taikrin's continued attention to her makes the exile focus on them tighten. It only crystallizes into a razor edge when Riorde breezes in and settles with the brownrider. "Well...isn't this a cozy picture." There's a moment where she weighs her options like the plate of sweets and the tea in her hands. "Riorde. Hey, did you ever ask Taikrin about her life before she was a dragonrider?" As though this just now occurred to her.

Taikrin glances quellingly at Nathalia, eyebrows knit like she's going to say something sharp in reply, but then there's Riorde, and she's smiling at her, and thoughts of needling Rhaelyn or scolding Nathalia go right out of her head. She absently flicks the rest of her cookie across the table, sets the flask aside, then slides down to set in the next chair over (though she leaves her booted feet propped up) and gestures for Riorde to take her newly-vacated chair. "Hey yourself." She ignores Rhaelyn, at first, but then her smile -- and then her entire body -- freezes in place. Eyes are wide with unmasked surprise as they flick towards Rhaelyn as if she could peer in to see whatever information the exile might hold.

There is a tired but friendly wave from Nat at the Riorde's appearance, and an apologetic glance for Rhaelyn, that is until she mentions Taikrin's past, at that there's a very deep frown from the smith crafter. A deep breath in, and a long drain from that mug. That glance from Taikrin is just returned quietly, though there is no sharpness or even anger behind it, just a mild shrug. Oh well she tried. "Did you enjoy the gather Riorde?" She asks the girl with a smile.

Riorde appropriates Taikrin's seat as her own and curls into it, body angled towards the brownrider she's just joined with one foot tucked under. Ri's observant, taking in the change engendered by Rhaelyn's not so subtle question to her in an instant, and as she slowly, almost languidly turns her head to look at her fellow exile, her expression is momentarily unreadable before she adopts an air of casual boredom. "Sure. But you know what they say-- once you're a rider, everything before isn't important. Haven't you paid attention in classes?' Now paternalistic, almost mocking, Riorde's tone is highlighted but the neutrality she attains afterwards. "Yeah, I did," she answers Nathalia, with a little, private smile all for herself. "It was my turnday."

There's a smell of blood in the water at the physical response from Taikrin and Rhae's smile widens. Dark lashes veil her eyes and suddenly, she watches them get all cozy. "I have heard the whole story, from a few different riders." It's less about Riorde not seeming to care, and more about the mockery that makes her change her tactics. One shoulder rolls, "Oh sure, a fish will change it's scales, just like magic. But, there is still that .... 'accident' after she impressed. But, if you're ok with it. Or...not knowing. More power to you."

Taikrin flounders, swallows, then grabs onto the opening Riorde throws her like her own personal life raft. "Yeah-- yeah," she ventures, with increasing confidence. "'Course. Old news, though, ain't it?" Though she's putting on a version of her cocky smile, there's something hunted in the gaze she continues to fix intently on Rhaelyn from over Riorde's shoulder. "Crap happens, we move on, yeah?" And, in concerted effort to change the subject, she nudges Riorde in the side. "And you're /terrible/ for not tellin' me beforehand, you know that?"

"Glad to hear you had a good Turnday." She offers. There's a definite eye roll for the discourse between the Island girls, but at mention of an accident the smith's brows lift noticeably at mention of an accident. "I would hope people change." She studies the brown rider with a frown, having heard herself about the rider's life before. "It isn't like the Bloods change their colors much, accusing people of stealing some sharding necklace. Silly little git probably just dropped it somewhere."

"And you're the expert at scaling a fish." With the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile that continues her derision, Riorde shields herself with a stare-- understated, off-putting intimidation rather than hard, stony warning. She gives little away, even when she finally glances at Taikrin in reaction to the nudge. "What's to tell?" Her "thanks" for Nathalia is muted, distracted, polite but with a significant gap between when the other girl speaks to her and when she responds.

Shrugging off Riorde's hard looks, Rhaelyn just gives her a sad look, poor girl and whatever fate she's stumbling into blindly. Then, there's just one last dig, looking at Taikrin and meeting her gaze, "Isn't it just awful. About that necklace being -stolen- that is? I mean, I guess if someone wanted to make it bad for us exiles and keep us under their thumb, who better to go to but someone with a history of stealing things. A dragon wouldn't make you forget how. Would it?" She hefts her snack and drink and turns away, walking out to enjoy her food elsewhere.

Though Taikrin doesn't respond in a timely manner before Rhaelyn is turning to stalk off, the look she's giving the younger woman speaks volumes. It's dark and concerned and interested -- and maybe a tiny bit respectful -- and full of promise. "Ain't that interesting?" she comments, finally, though Rhaelyn might be out of earshot. Her voice is full of false brightness, and the smile she tries on rings false. "Girl gets the weirdest ideas, don't she? Was she always like that?" She shakes her head, not waiting for an answer before following up with, "You're supposed to /tell/ me when it's gonna be your turnday, so's I can do stuff. Get you something."

Nat's jaw just drops, Rhaelyn didn't really just go there did she? "Really Rhaelyn?" the smith just mutters. Though the look the brown rider gives the Islander gets a frown. "Yeah it's funny, but there's been a lot of dirty deeds done to islanders around here lately. Holders and Riders alike it would seem, judging from the roomers." The smith sighs, grinning at the pair. "Never know anymore I guess, who's safe to trust and who isn't. I think I will stick to gathers further south from now on."

Nor does Riorde respond to Rhaelyn-- but then, none of the other islander's words are overtly directed at her, allowing Riorde to study both Rhaelyn and her target, Taikrin. She sinks into contemplative silence, the smile of her mockery dropping off. "You did get me something," she reminds, with a sudden intentness in her features that speaks of a desire to ask a question. It's an effort to turn away, towards Nathalia. "How long have you lived here?" she asks the smith. "A turn? Something like that? How well do you think you can know someone in that time, enough to trust them?"

"Sometimes crap happens," Taikrin repeats with some certainty for Nathalia's sake. "You trust your people, take care of 'em, and they take care of you." She sneaks a glance at Riorde, subtle-like, then bumps her shoulder against the exile's. And reminds her, quietly, "Would'a done /more/." But pack to the point at hand, "Sometimes it ain't how long you know a person, but-- you gotta be able to tell, quick-like, who you can trust. Who you gotta watch out for. Some sorts're more obvious than others."
Nat leans back nursing her drink. Watching Rhaelyn and the brown rider with a smile. "I don't think it's even been a turn really, I was transferred here the day of the clutching." She notes after a few beats of silence with an uninterested shrug. It's Taikrin's response though that draws the Smith's attention with a smile. "That's very true, and even sometimes you have to keep your friends close, and possible enemies closer." A beat. "In my case the list of people I actually trust has always been pretty short." She offers Riorde with a half smile.

The break in Riorde's on-edge, watchful mood is obvious as she sags back into her chair, alert tension draining away. As short-lived as her grin is, there's a certain relief that comes in the brief flash of her teeth. "Did plenty," she insists to Taikrin, punctuating her point with a light prod with her elbow. "Sometimes you know," she seems to agree next with both of the other women, although it's a reversal of the implication in her previous question. "But sometimes people can still surprise you."

"Yeah, yeah," Taikrin dismisses her previous effort with a one-shouldered shrug, though now she's grinning from ear to ear. "Better if you don't trust /too/ many people. Too hard to keep track of, you know? But, the right ones. Knowing the right ones is important. Sometimes surprises are okay, and sometimes, well, they ain't so great." Now that smile is directed solely at Riorde, is if to share some private secret.

Devaki heads in from the inner caverns.
Devaki has arrived.

"Personally I am sick of surprises." The smith notes slowly, resting her mug between both hands. At the grin the smith laughs, "right cause you never know when someone's going to try to shank you in your sleep for /trying/ to do the right thing." She laughs. "I think I will be glad when those eggs finally hatch and I can move out of the barracks. Fewer rules would be an added bonus."

Riorde doesn't say much, but while she was still and concentrated before, now she displays a certain restless energy, uncrossing one leg only to draw the other one under her, hands lifting to release her damp hair so she can comb through it with her fingers, expression a struggle against the mobility of a smile. "Not many," Riorde echoes her agreement. What Nathalia says starts to cue her own laughter, which she represses by looking away, gazing out at the traffic surrounding them in the cavern. "Just the right ones."

"Coupl'a sevens at most, now. Szad seems to think they're almost ready, but he ain't real clear on why." This, at least, Taikrin can be sure of. As Riorde fidgets, Taikrin leans back in the very picture of relaxation and moves to loop an arm behind her shoulders in a casually possessive gesture. "Reckon if you impress, it's /more/ rules, not less. I ever tell you guys about how /amazing/ your first whiskey is, after you had to be dry for months and months?"

It would be hard to miss Devaki's entrance. Or more accurately, Devaki's accompanying of a very loud, very demanding little creature. Firelizards are /noisy/ when they're hungry, and Devaki's hair is messed up, shirt untucked as if he's been rousted from a deep sleep and sent on a quest for food. He all but races across the caverns, heading immediately into the kitchen where, mercifully, the noise fades out for a time. When he returns, the noises are dimmed notably by the bucket of meat and quick fingers, as the ruffled-looking exile casts about for an out-of-the-way location to settle down into. Fortunately or not, this is at a table right behind the grouping in the corner.

Nat offers a smile for the Island girl as she echoes her agreement. "Well I don't think you have to worry much Riorde, as much as that one keeps an eye out for you." She teases Taikrin warmly. There's a laugh for mention of returning from being dry. "No you didn't, but I think staying completely sober will be the hardest part, unless there are /worse/ rules to follow. That's good news though, I don't think I could take more than a month more of living in there." She eyes Taikrin with a frown. Nat eyes Devaki as he enters, or more accurately the flit that he seems to be accompanying.

Riorde maintains mastery over herself by continuing to watch people beyond their table, except for a short glance darted at Taikrin when leans back, and contributes only peripherially to the conversation. "Good thing I'm not a candidate." Riorde's tone of voice is almost too dry, too flat. She only warms in her idle remark to Nathalia. "I manage alright myself." Devaki and the loud thing he carries through the cavern make for a good distraction; when he aims for the table behind them, Riorde twists her upper body towards him and, momentarily, almost out of the circle of Taikrin's arm. "If you've come to harass us with the noise that creature makes, you might as well let us have a look at it at the same time," she says, couching an invitation to join their table in a tease.

"That's because you never smelled what comes out the back of a weyrling dragon who ate too much," Taikrin teases Nathalia, though at quarter of her attention is on Riorde and her odd behavior. Well, make that three-quarters, when Devaki appears with his noisy little pet and steals away her attention. Her arm tightens, briefly, but were anyone to look she's all confident smiles. "What you got there? Another one? Flame me, those things're popping up like tunnelsnakes in a-- a breeding season." Whatever she was about to say is caught, last second, and something else blatently substituted in. "
Uh, without that last "

Food solves a lot of things, apparently, including noisy creatures. Devaki's grown adept at managing to stuff the little firelizard's mouth with one hand while cradling the creature in his other arm. He's just about to flop down onto a seat when a familiar voice draws his attention to the next table, eyes lighting on Riorde and a smile creeping across his features, before his gaze darts to take in her table companions -- including a brief look at the location of Taikrin's arm. "She'll settle down once I stuff her enough," he replies with a laugh, though he does -- with a juggling of firelizard and bowl -- manage to relocate to their table. The creature's tiny, a blue-green shade, and apparently still ravenous, nearly biting Devaki's figure in its haste for the next mouthful of food. "Ow, watch it! What were you-- did I hear something about the clutch hatching soon?" Ah yes, diversionary tactics.

Nat eyes the girl suspiciously at the comment but says nothing. There's a smile for the Idle remark. There's a laugh though when Taikrin mentions thick tail. "Well that's true, but no guarantees I will impress either." She laughs, as she studies the lizard with more interest than the Islander male. "Where did you manage to get one?" She asks with a friendly enough smile.

With the invitation extended and Devaki in the process of relocating, Riorde re-settles almost as if nothing had happened at all. There's an edge of awareness to her though she seems at ease to the casual observer, busy putting her hair back up with a short length of leather before she lets herself relax back. "Yeah, where /did/ you get it?" she asks on the heels of Nathalia's question to Devaki, a little more insinuating in the way she lays the mild stress.

Taikrin is not a casual observer; that edge is not unnoticed. She shoots a look at Riorde, lips pulling to one side in a brief-but-thoughtful expression, then returns her attention to Devaki and his acquisition. "Yeah, who'd you have to kill to get one of them? Eggs ain't so common, all the way up here." She's probably joking: there's that lopsided smile again, and her voice is light despite her hawk-like focus. With a final squeeze, shr drops her arm from around Riorde's shoulder and kicks her boots off the table so she can lean in for a better view. "Or was it just bein' lucky?"

"Won it at the gather," Devaki replies without even looking up, unaware of friendly smile or otherwise from Nathalia's question. He's trying to avoid getting his fingers bitten off, it seems. Finally, as the little creature begins to be mostly satiated, he leans back, not unaware of the insinuations, but not rising to them either, not even the expected bristling of the falsely accused. "Almost wish I hadn't, either -- she's been keeping me up since she shelled. Haven't had a full night's rest in..." he trails off as if trying to remember, then gives it up with a twitch of shoulders. "I called her Sea," he adds, gaze darting to Riorde with a that sort of smile you give when you're sharing a secret. "Lucky, right," he agrees with Taikrin.
Nat lifts a brow with a sigh. "Right I missed that stall. Too bad too, I had some theories I wanted to test. Suppose I will have to just bug the few who have them." She notes with a sigh. "Cute little bugger though."

When Taikrin's arm drops away, Riorde glances at the brownrider, noticing something maybe amiss, but Taikrin's busy looking at the little green. Riorde leans forward to have a look too, both of her elbows coming to rest on the table with her fists loosely balled under her chin, not hunched but half-extended. Her gaze lifts when Devaki names the hatchling firelizard, in time to catch his smile and return it with a flash of a grin and humour bubbling up. "Short for sea monster?" Nathalia gets a glance next. "Theories? What can you theorise on with those things?" says the girl who's never seen a firelizard before, let alone never heard of one until one showed up in the barracks.

"Thought I'd found some firelizard eggs, once," Taikrin muses idly. "It didn't work out." And then, as if recalling exactly how unpleasant that story actually is, she makes a face and draws back from her inspection of the messy little creature. "Not sure they're for me. Heard they could be useful, I guess?" There's more than a little doubt in the truth of that, especially with the way she's looking at the green. But then she's not looking at the firelizard anymore, but rather at Devaki. Then Riorde. "Sea monsters?"

"Test?" Devaki, too, picks up on that word with a glance down at the firelizard, then back. He doesn't look particularly game for anything, judging by the wary look he gives the candidate. Sea's finished eating and has managed to curl herself into the tiniest possible ball within the crook of the islander's arm, earning a twitch of lips. "Uh-huh," he agrees with Riorde's guess, amusement in his expression. His gaze drifts to Taikrin, and he nods, glance dropping quickly away. "I-- I heard you can teach them to carry things. Messages." As for the sea monster, he gestures vaguely at Riorde as if encouraging his fellow islander to tell the story.

Nat offers a bit of a sheepish grin at the question. "Well, Fire lizards are small and they chew firestone same as dragons. I'd have to be able to test exactly how hot they flame, and they can go 'between' to get to areas that you can't put under forge heat. Granted might be very difficult to train one but like I said it's a theory." There's a scratching of the back of her neck as her mind branches off on the possible uses. "Then again, It would be interesting to see if you could forge via dragon flame. Though maybe there would already be crafter's doing it if it were practical." She shrugs taking a long drink.

"Fitting," Riorde decides, "though I'd just call it monster." She turns her head to the side, one fist now by her ear as she looks at Taikrin. "Something we used to scare kids with," Riorde starts to fill in. Scare ourselves with. You know -- stay out too late, wander a bit too far, the sea monster'll come and get you." She finally gathers herself and sits back into her chair, hands falling into her lap. "Some people'd swear it was true." Still ostensibly speaking to the brownrider, the exile looks at Devaki to include him in the conclusion of her summary.

"Yeah, but," Taikrin questions uncertainly, "What /is/ it? Like, some kind of huge shipfish? Or pirates? Or a watchwher that escaped and learned to swim?" Nobody ever called her imaginative, that's for sure. With a final look at the firelizard, she shrugs then pushes back from the chair. "Reckon you'd have plenty of dragons willing to flame for you if you want to try it out, Nathalia," she offers distractedly while she gets to her feet with lanky grace. She doesn't go far, though, but rather leans down to murmur something in Riorde's ear. From the husky pitch of her voice and lascivious smile, it must be dirty. Louder, then, and with a mocking salute, "I'm off, me. See you all later." There's a pointed look for Riorde-- maybe later might actually be sooner?

"They do?" Devaki seems surprised at this knowledge, peering down at the tiny creature. "This thing can chew firestone?" he sounds patently disbelieving of that. Nathalia's notions are, quite frankly, astounding for the islander, and there's no subtlety in the way his other hand curves protectively over the sleeping firelizard nestled in his arm. There's a reminiscent smile at Riorde's explanation, then, with certainty: "It was true. The sea monster existed. Just -- sometimes it was Xoami, and sometimes it was Io, and sometimes it was me. But it existed," he insists, chuckling. "It was a big creature, like a fish with scales, a huge fin. I don't--" he frowns over the mention of shipfish and watchwhers, having never seen either, and shrugs.

"Different people, different ideas," says Riorde, shrugging off the suggestions as unimportant in themselves. "Noises in the dark." The explanations of the other islander cue her own recollection, a flash of sentimentality that is generally foreign to her features. It doesn't last long, especially not with Taikrin's remarks bringing her back to present. Spots of colour appear on her cheeks -- maybe the lighting is low enough to hide them. "See you later," she repeats; coming from her, it could sound less like farewell and more like agreement.

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Logs:Making Trouble for Taikrin

2013-02-07T07:00:19Z

Taikrin: Created page with "{{ Log | who = Taikrin, Rhaelyn, Nathalia, Riorde, Devaki | where = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr | what = Taikrin has apparently been stalking Rhaelyn, who has gathered so..."

{{ Log
| who = Taikrin, Rhaelyn, Nathalia, Riorde, Devaki
| where = Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin has apparently been stalking Rhaelyn, who has gathered some information of interest. Threats are made. Afterwards, there's an interlude with a firelizard.
| when = Late evening, day 7, month 6, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.08.08
| quote = Once you're a rider, everything before isn't important.
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32, Criminal Activity
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons =
| log =

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

Nathalia heads in from the inner caverns.
Nathalia has arrived.

The dinner rush has come and gone and now it's late enough for people to filter in for late night snacks and dessert. Rhaelyn is standing at the serving table, eyeing a towering plate of cake wedges, trying to make her choice from the overwhelming selection. "I don't know why they have to make so -much-."

The glows have allowed to get a bit dim now that the crowds have receded, and some of the corner tables are shadowy indeed. It's at one of these that Taikrin reclines, alone, with boots kicked up onto the table and a flask resting against her legs. She nibbles on what might be a cookie, idly, and seems to be more or less fixated on watching Rhaelyn.

Straggling in, with a bottle under arm and a tired expression Nat snaps up a mug and looks for someplace to plop down. Spotting Taikrin with an amused glance, she pulls a chair out next to the brown rider. "Mind if I sit here?"

Rhaelyn picks up one of the red cakes with cream frosting. This goes onto her plate along with a slice of what could be lemon or citron cake. Then there are berries and whipped cream. To go with this plate of sugary delights, she gets a mug of steaming hot tea and goes to find a place to sit. If she notices anyone looking her way, there's no indication of minding. Passing by Nathalia she gives a nod and one for Taikrin too as she moves past.

If Taikrin is startled upon being spotted in her shadowy abode, she doesn't show it beyond an arched eyebrow at Nathalia. She gestures magnanimously at the seat across the way with her flask, offering, "Have a seat." Her attention is primarily fixed on Rhaelyn, though, to the point where she calls out, perhaps to halt her, "Rhaelyn. Enjoying your cake, yeah?"

Nat offers a nod in return for Rhaelyn, and plops down in the chair, studying Taikrin with muted puzzlement. The bottle is set on the table, and a bit is added to the mug. The smith seems about to say something but instead she just settles back and watches Rhaelyn and Taikrin.

The question does stall Rhaelyn's movement. One eyebrow goes up at Taikrin's question, her lips slanting upward into a child-like smile. "Haven't really tried it yet. I oh, I do plan on enjoying it. Every last crumb." Now it dawns on her that she has been watched and her eyebrows draw together over a suddenly puzzled gaze, "Plenty over there if you want some."

"Color me surprised," Taikrin drawls. "Me, figured you would'a tried everything already. I ain't much of a person for sweets." She emphasizes that with a sweeping gesture of her half-eaten cookie, then cuts a significant glance towards Nathalia before adding, "You get a good taste at the gather, then? Lots of sweets, there."

Riorde heads in from the inner caverns.
Riorde has arrived.

Nat takes a long drain from her mug, brows drawing together at the glance. "Not really hungry, but thanks for pointing it out Rhaelyn." The tone of appreciation seems genuine if cautious. "Yeah that gather was something else, I forgot how much I detested holders till then." The mug set down, and refilled as she speaks.

"Goes to show how little you know about me." Rhaelyn replies easily to the brownrider without hostility. The cookie is given a look, she hadn't been paying enough attention to notice it until she flourishes it. Then the attention switches to Nathalia, allowing her to answer that. A little nod of her head and she's turning away again, there's an empty table over there. Yay!

Apparently Taikrin isn't quite done with her, because no sooner has Rhaelyn turned away then she calls out again. "Apparently so." The brownrider's lips quirk in a little half-smile, despite her best efforts to suppress it. She acknowledges Nathalia's statement with a thoughtful nod, then turns it back to the exile with, "How'd /you/ find the holders? Not to your liking, either?"

Nat sighs, leaning over the table to offer the bottle. "You know, I don't get it." Her words are low, spoken softly. "You don't seem to follow your own advice too well you know. Why do you keep digging at her?" She sighs, before leaning back in her own chair.

Habits die hard. Riorde, quiet to enter, has the restless, half-wary look about her that makes an exile easy to spot, scanning the main caverns as soon as she steps foot inside the enormous open space. She works her way along the edges rather than stepping out into the middle, and at a certain point her pace quickens when she catches sight of Taikrin tucked into a corner. "Hey." The short greeting encompasses them all, but Riorde has a slight, singular smile for the brownrider. Her dark hair's in a knot lying at the nape of her neck, a wet giveaway - she just came from the baths.

Rhaelyn laughs softly, having kept Taikrin in the corner of her eye. She gives her head a turn, just enough to fix the look on her, to try to figure out what her sport might be. "Yeah. Right." She might not catch what Nathalia is saying, but just the lowering of her voice towards the brownrider and Taikrin's continued attention to her makes the exile focus on them tighten. It only crystallizes into a razor edge when Riorde breezes in and settles with the brownrider. "Well...isn't this a cozy picture." There's a moment where she weighs her options like the plate of sweets and the tea in her hands. "Riorde. Hey, did you ever ask Taikrin about her life before she was a dragonrider?" As though this just now occurred to her.

Taikrin glances quellingly at Nathalia, eyebrows knit like she's going to say something sharp in reply, but then there's Riorde, and she's smiling at her, and thoughts of needling Rhaelyn or scolding Nathalia go right out of her head. She absently flicks the rest of her cookie across the table, sets the flask aside, then slides down to set in the next chair over (though she leaves her booted feet propped up) and gestures for Riorde to take her newly-vacated chair. "Hey yourself." She ignores Rhaelyn, at first, but then her smile -- and then her entire body -- freezes in place. Eyes are wide with unmasked surprise as they flick towards Rhaelyn as if she could peer in to see whatever information the exile might hold.

There is a tired but friendly wave from Nat at the Riorde's appearance, and an apologetic glance for Rhaelyn, that is until she mentions Taikrin's past, at that there's a very deep frown from the smith crafter. A deep breath in, and a long drain from that mug. That glance from Taikrin is just returned quietly, though there is no sharpness or even anger behind it, just a mild shrug. Oh well she tried. "Did you enjoy the gather Riorde?" She asks the girl with a smile.

Riorde appropriates Taikrin's seat as her own and curls into it, body angled towards the brownrider she's just joined with one foot tucked under. Ri's observant, taking in the change engendered by Rhaelyn's not so subtle question to her in an instant, and as she slowly, almost languidly turns her head to look at her fellow exile, her expression is momentarily unreadable before she adopts an air of casual boredom. "Sure. But you know what they say-- once you're a rider, everything before isn't important. Haven't you paid attention in classes?' Now paternalistic, almost mocking, Riorde's tone is highlighted but the neutrality she attains afterwards. "Yeah, I did," she answers Nathalia, with a little, private smile all for herself. "It was my turnday."

There's a smell of blood in the water at the physical response from Taikrin and Rhae's smile widens. Dark lashes veil her eyes and suddenly, she watches them get all cozy. "I have heard the whole story, from a few different riders." It's less about Riorde not seeming to care, and more about the mockery that makes her change her tactics. One shoulder rolls, "Oh sure, a fish will change it's scales, just like magic. But, there is still that .... 'accident' after she impressed. But, if you're ok with it. Or...not knowing. More power to you."

Taikrin flounders, swallows, then grabs onto the opening Riorde throws her like her own personal life raft. "Yeah-- yeah," she ventures, with increasing confidence. "'Course. Old news, though, ain't it?" Though she's putting on a version of her cocky smile, there's something hunted in the gaze she continues to fix intently on Rhaelyn from over Riorde's shoulder. "Crap happens, we move on, yeah?" And, in concerted effort to change the subject, she nudges Riorde in the side. "And you're /terrible/ for not tellin' me beforehand, you know that?"

"Glad to hear you had a good Turnday." She offers. There's a definite eye roll for the discourse between the Island girls, but at mention of an accident the smith's brows lift noticeably at mention of an accident. "I would hope people change." She studies the brown rider with a frown, having heard herself about the rider's life before. "It isn't like the Bloods change their colors much, accusing people of stealing some sharding necklace. Silly little git probably just dropped it somewhere."

"And you're the expert at scaling a fish." With the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile that continues her derision, Riorde shields herself with a stare-- understated, off-putting intimidation rather than hard, stony warning. She gives little away, even when she finally glances at Taikrin in reaction to the nudge. "What's to tell?" Her "thanks" for Nathalia is muted, distracted, polite but with a significant gap between when the other girl speaks to her and when she responds.

Shrugging off Riorde's hard looks, Rhaelyn just gives her a sad look, poor girl and whatever fate she's stumbling into blindly. Then, there's just one last dig, looking at Taikrin and meeting her gaze, "Isn't it just awful. About that necklace being -stolen- that is? I mean, I guess if someone wanted to make it bad for us exiles and keep us under their thumb, who better to go to but someone with a history of stealing things. A dragon wouldn't make you forget how. Would it?" She hefts her snack and drink and turns away, walking out to enjoy her food elsewhere.

Though Taikrin doesn't respond in a timely manner before Rhaelyn is turning to stalk off, the look she's giving the younger woman speaks volumes. It's dark and concerned and interested -- and maybe a tiny bit respectful -- and full of promise. "Ain't that interesting?" she comments, finally, though Rhaelyn might be out of earshot. Her voice is full of false brightness, and the smile she tries on rings false. "Girl gets the weirdest ideas, don't she? Was she always like that?" She shakes her head, not waiting for an answer before following up with, "You're supposed to /tell/ me when it's gonna be your turnday, so's I can do stuff. Get you something."

Nat's jaw just drops, Rhaelyn didn't really just go there did she? "Really Rhaelyn?" the smith just mutters. Though the look the brown rider gives the Islander gets a frown. "Yeah it's funny, but there's been a lot of dirty deeds done to islanders around here lately. Holders and Riders alike it would seem, judging from the roomers." The smith sighs, grinning at the pair. "Never know anymore I guess, who's safe to trust and who isn't. I think I will stick to gathers further south from now on."

Nor does Riorde respond to Rhaelyn-- but then, none of the other islander's words are overtly directed at her, allowing Riorde to study both Rhaelyn and her target, Taikrin. She sinks into contemplative silence, the smile of her mockery dropping off. "You did get me something," she reminds, with a sudden intentness in her features that speaks of a desire to ask a question. It's an effort to turn away, towards Nathalia. "How long have you lived here?" she asks the smith. "A turn? Something like that? How well do you think you can know someone in that time, enough to trust them?"

"Sometimes crap happens," Taikrin repeats with some certainty for Nathalia's sake. "You trust your people, take care of 'em, and they take care of you." She sneaks a glance at Riorde, subtle-like, then bumps her shoulder against the exile's. And reminds her, quietly, "Would'a done /more/." But pack to the point at hand, "Sometimes it ain't how long you know a person, but-- you gotta be able to tell, quick-like, who you can trust. Who you gotta watch out for. Some sorts're more obvious than others."
Nat leans back nursing her drink. Watching Rhaelyn and the brown rider with a smile. "I don't think it's even been a turn really, I was transferred here the day of the clutching." She notes after a few beats of silence with an uninterested shrug. It's Taikrin's response though that draws the Smith's attention with a smile. "That's very true, and even sometimes you have to keep your friends close, and possible enemies closer." A beat. "In my case the list of people I actually trust has always been pretty short." She offers Riorde with a half smile.

The break in Riorde's on-edge, watchful mood is obvious as she sags back into her chair, alert tension draining away. As short-lived as her grin is, there's a certain relief that comes in the brief flash of her teeth. "Did plenty," she insists to Taikrin, punctuating her point with a light prod with her elbow. "Sometimes you know," she seems to agree next with both of the other women, although it's a reversal of the implication in her previous question. "But sometimes people can still surprise you."

"Yeah, yeah," Taikrin dismisses her previous effort with a one-shouldered shrug, though now she's grinning from ear to ear. "Better if you don't trust /too/ many people. Too hard to keep track of, you know? But, the right ones. Knowing the right ones is important. Sometimes surprises are okay, and sometimes, well, they ain't so great." Now that smile is directed solely at Riorde, is if to share some private secret.

Devaki heads in from the inner caverns.
Devaki has arrived.

"Personally I am sick of surprises." The smith notes slowly, resting her mug between both hands. At the grin the smith laughs, "right cause you never know when someone's going to try to shank you in your sleep for /trying/ to do the right thing." She laughs. "I think I will be glad when those eggs finally hatch and I can move out of the barracks. Fewer rules would be an added bonus."

Riorde doesn't say much, but while she was still and concentrated before, now she displays a certain restless energy, uncrossing one leg only to draw the other one under her, hands lifting to release her damp hair so she can comb through it with her fingers, expression a struggle against the mobility of a smile. "Not many," Riorde echoes her agreement. What Nathalia says starts to cue her own laughter, which she represses by looking away, gazing out at the traffic surrounding them in the cavern. "Just the right ones."

"Coupl'a sevens at most, now. Szad seems to think they're almost ready, but he ain't real clear on why." This, at least, Taikrin can be sure of. As Riorde fidgets, Taikrin leans back in the very picture of relaxation and moves to loop an arm behind her shoulders in a casually possessive gesture. "Reckon if you impress, it's /more/ rules, not less. I ever tell you guys about how /amazing/ your first whiskey is, after you had to be dry for months and months?"

It would be hard to miss Devaki's entrance. Or more accurately, Devaki's accompanying of a very loud, very demanding little creature. Firelizards are /noisy/ when they're hungry, and Devaki's hair is messed up, shirt untucked as if he's been rousted from a deep sleep and sent on a quest for food. He all but races across the caverns, heading immediately into the kitchen where, mercifully, the noise fades out for a time. When he returns, the noises are dimmed notably by the bucket of meat and quick fingers, as the ruffled-looking exile casts about for an out-of-the-way location to settle down into. Fortunately or not, this is at a table right behind the grouping in the corner.

Nat offers a smile for the Island girl as she echoes her agreement. "Well I don't think you have to worry much Riorde, as much as that one keeps an eye out for you." She teases Taikrin warmly. There's a laugh for mention of returning from being dry. "No you didn't, but I think staying completely sober will be the hardest part, unless there are /worse/ rules to follow. That's good news though, I don't think I could take more than a month more of living in there." She eyes Taikrin with a frown. Nat eyes Devaki as he enters, or more accurately the flit that he seems to be accompanying.

Riorde maintains mastery over herself by continuing to watch people beyond their table, except for a short glance darted at Taikrin when leans back, and contributes only peripherially to the conversation. "Good thing I'm not a candidate." Riorde's tone of voice is almost too dry, too flat. She only warms in her idle remark to Nathalia. "I manage alright myself." Devaki and the loud thing he carries through the cavern make for a good distraction; when he aims for the table behind them, Riorde twists her upper body towards him and, momentarily, almost out of the circle of Taikrin's arm. "If you've come to harass us with the noise that creature makes, you might as well let us have a look at it at the same time," she says, couching an invitation to join their table in a tease.

"That's because you never smelled what comes out the back of a weyrling dragon who ate too much," Taikrin teases Nathalia, though at quarter of her attention is on Riorde and her odd behavior. Well, make that three-quarters, when Devaki appears with his noisy little pet and steals away her attention. Her arm tightens, briefly, but were anyone to look she's all confident smiles. "What you got there? Another one? Flame me, those things're popping up like tunnelsnakes in a-- a breeding season." Whatever she was about to say is caught, last second, and something else blatently substituted in. "
Uh, without that last "

Food solves a lot of things, apparently, including noisy creatures. Devaki's grown adept at managing to stuff the little firelizard's mouth with one hand while cradling the creature in his other arm. He's just about to flop down onto a seat when a familiar voice draws his attention to the next table, eyes lighting on Riorde and a smile creeping across his features, before his gaze darts to take in her table companions -- including a brief look at the location of Taikrin's arm. "She'll settle down once I stuff her enough," he replies with a laugh, though he does -- with a juggling of firelizard and bowl -- manage to relocate to their table. The creature's tiny, a blue-green shade, and apparently still ravenous, nearly biting Devaki's figure in its haste for the next mouthful of food. "Ow, watch it! What were you-- did I hear something about the clutch hatching soon?" Ah yes, diversionary tactics.

Nat eyes the girl suspiciously at the comment but says nothing. There's a smile for the Idle remark. There's a laugh though when Taikrin mentions thick tail. "Well that's true, but no guarantees I will impress either." She laughs, as she studies the lizard with more interest than the Islander male. "Where did you manage to get one?" She asks with a friendly enough smile.

With the invitation extended and Devaki in the process of relocating, Riorde re-settles almost as if nothing had happened at all. There's an edge of awareness to her though she seems at ease to the casual observer, busy putting her hair back up with a short length of leather before she lets herself relax back. "Yeah, where /did/ you get it?" she asks on the heels of Nathalia's question to Devaki, a little more insinuating in the way she lays the mild stress.

Taikrin is not a casual observer; that edge is not unnoticed. She shoots a look at Riorde, lips pulling to one side in a brief-but-thoughtful expression, then returns her attention to Devaki and his acquisition. "Yeah, who'd you have to kill to get one of them? Eggs ain't so common, all the way up here." She's probably joking: there's that lopsided smile again, and her voice is light despite her hawk-like focus. With a final squeeze, shr drops her arm from around Riorde's shoulder and kicks her boots off the table so she can lean in for a better view. "Or was it just bein' lucky?"

"Won it at the gather," Devaki replies without even looking up, unaware of friendly smile or otherwise from Nathalia's question. He's trying to avoid getting his fingers bitten off, it seems. Finally, as the little creature begins to be mostly satiated, he leans back, not unaware of the insinuations, but not rising to them either, not even the expected bristling of the falsely accused. "Almost wish I hadn't, either -- she's been keeping me up since she shelled. Haven't had a full night's rest in..." he trails off as if trying to remember, then gives it up with a twitch of shoulders. "I called her Sea," he adds, gaze darting to Riorde with a that sort of smile you give when you're sharing a secret. "Lucky, right," he agrees with Taikrin.
Nat lifts a brow with a sigh. "Right I missed that stall. Too bad too, I had some theories I wanted to test. Suppose I will have to just bug the few who have them." She notes with a sigh. "Cute little bugger though."

When Taikrin's arm drops away, Riorde glances at the brownrider, noticing something maybe amiss, but Taikrin's busy looking at the little green. Riorde leans forward to have a look too, both of her elbows coming to rest on the table with her fists loosely balled under her chin, not hunched but half-extended. Her gaze lifts when Devaki names the hatchling firelizard, in time to catch his smile and return it with a flash of a grin and humour bubbling up. "Short for sea monster?" Nathalia gets a glance next. "Theories? What can you theorise on with those things?" says the girl who's never seen a firelizard before, let alone never heard of one until one showed up in the barracks.

"Thought I'd found some firelizard eggs, once," Taikrin muses idly. "It didn't work out." And then, as if recalling exactly how unpleasant that story actually is, she makes a face and draws back from her inspection of the messy little creature. "Not sure they're for me. Heard they could be useful, I guess?" There's more than a little doubt in the truth of that, especially with the way she's looking at the green. But then she's not looking at the firelizard anymore, but rather at Devaki. Then Riorde. "Sea monsters?"

"Test?" Devaki, too, picks up on that word with a glance down at the firelizard, then back. He doesn't look particularly game for anything, judging by the wary look he gives the candidate. Sea's finished eating and has managed to curl herself into the tiniest possible ball within the crook of the islander's arm, earning a twitch of lips. "Uh-huh," he agrees with Riorde's guess, amusement in his expression. His gaze drifts to Taikrin, and he nods, glance dropping quickly away. "I-- I heard you can teach them to carry things. Messages." As for the sea monster, he gestures vaguely at Riorde as if encouraging his fellow islander to tell the story.

Nat offers a bit of a sheepish grin at the question. "Well, Fire lizards are small and they chew firestone same as dragons. I'd have to be able to test exactly how hot they flame, and they can go 'between' to get to areas that you can't put under forge heat. Granted might be very difficult to train one but like I said it's a theory." There's a scratching of the back of her neck as her mind branches off on the possible uses. "Then again, It would be interesting to see if you could forge via dragon flame. Though maybe there would already be crafter's doing it if it were practical." She shrugs taking a long drink.

"Fitting," Riorde decides, "though I'd just call it monster." She turns her head to the side, one fist now by her ear as she looks at Taikrin. "Something we used to scare kids with," Riorde starts to fill in. Scare ourselves with. You know -- stay out too late, wander a bit too far, the sea monster'll come and get you." She finally gathers herself and sits back into her chair, hands falling into her lap. "Some people'd swear it was true." Still ostensibly speaking to the brownrider, the exile looks at Devaki to include him in the conclusion of her summary.

"Yeah, but," Taikrin questions uncertainly, "What /is/ it? Like, some kind of huge shipfish? Or pirates? Or a watchwher that escaped and learned to swim?" Nobody ever called her imaginative, that's for sure. With a final look at the firelizard, she shrugs then pushes back from the chair. "Reckon you'd have plenty of dragons willing to flame for you if you want to try it out, Nathalia," she offers distractedly while she gets to her feet with lanky grace. She doesn't go far, though, but rather leans down to murmur something in Riorde's ear. From the husky pitch of her voice and lascivious smile, it must be dirty. Louder, then, and with a mocking salute, "I'm off, me. See you all later." There's a pointed look for Riorde-- maybe later might actually be sooner?

"They do?" Devaki seems surprised at this knowledge, peering down at the tiny creature. "This thing can chew firestone?" he sounds patently disbelieving of that. Nathalia's notions are, quite frankly, astounding for the islander, and there's no subtlety in the way his other hand curves protectively over the sleeping firelizard nestled in his arm. There's a reminiscent smile at Riorde's explanation, then, with certainty: "It was true. The sea monster existed. Just -- sometimes it was Xoami, and sometimes it was Io, and sometimes it was me. But it existed," he insists, chuckling. "It was a big creature, like a fish with scales, a huge fin. I don't--" he frowns over the mention of shipfish and watchwhers, having never seen either, and shrugs.

"Different people, different ideas," says Riorde, shrugging off the suggestions as unimportant in themselves. "Noises in the dark." The explanations of the other islander cue her own recollection, a flash of sentimentality that is generally foreign to her features. It doesn't last long, especially not with Taikrin's remarks bringing her back to present. Spots of colour appear on her cheeks -- maybe the lighting is low enough to hide them. "See you later," she repeats; coming from her, it could sound less like farewell and more like agreement.

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Logs:Devil's in the Deal

2013-02-07T06:55:27Z

Taikrin:

{{ Log
| who = Rhaelyn, Taikrin
| where = Records Room, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Taikrin decides that the prudent thing to do is to buy Rhaelyn's silence. It's isn't cheap.
| when = Evening, 19:42 of day 19, month 6, turn 26 of Interval 10
| gamedate = 2011.08.11
| quote = So...dresses. And hair clips...and...and a new pair of boots.
| weather =
| categories = Exiles, Clutch 32, Criminal Activity
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = taikrin_smug.jpg
| log =

Records Room, High Reaches Weyr

Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls, and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded. A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets, scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets.
To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture. Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs.
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It is a summer afternoon, 19:42 of day 19, month 6, turn 26 of Interval 10.

Later into the evening is a good time to stake out a place in the Records Room. So it's no wonder that Rhaelyn is there, picking along the shelves. In her hand is a strip of hide and she keeps looking at it and the rows of scrolls to try to locate...something in particular.

Someone must have told someone who must have told someone-- because there's no other excuse for why Taikrin might be making a beeline into the records room. She's clearly just back in from sweeps: her riding goggles are still propped on her forehead, and she's got pink cheeks from a combination of sun- and wind-burn. Once within the doorway, the brownrider hesitates only long enough to orient herself before stalking towards Rhaelyn with her face a mask of determination. Without so much as a how-do-you-do, she an arm against the bookshelf right in Rhaelyn's path and demands, "What do you want?"

The sound of someone coming makes Rhae tuck the leaf of paper into her shirt front and with her other hand, pull out a scroll. Or, maybe this is the one she was looking for all along. With the scroll held carefully between her hands she turns to see who's coming. Taikrin is likely the last person she expects to find lookig back at her. A blink responds to the question and then a confused smile. "I'm....sorry.....?" the question dangling at the very end while she takes in the fresh-from-work appearance of the brownrider.

"What. Do. You. Want." Taikrin repeats herself, slowly, with clear enunciation on each syllable. "I ain't stupid, I know you been checkin' up on me. And with what you said the other day--" Her face is still a deceptively still mask, voice controlled, but her dark eyes are snapping. "-- I figure you must want something. So. What is it?"

Rhaelyn frowns at the way the question is answered rather than what is being asked of her. She doesn't look away though, squinting slightly at Taikrin, "What I want -clearly- doesn't matter. And you can't take back the insults you've given to me." Her head tips slowly to one side and she can't help but remind the brownrider, "Your sweetheart surely will understand. You're not the same person now as you were...before you impressed."

Taikrin's expression darkens perceptably, despite her best efforts to remain passively neutral. "I'm givin' you a chance. You ain't like to get another. I can be reasonable." Because she sure looks reasonable. "You just leave Riorde out of this. If you took some insult--" she shrugs, idly, lips twitching. "In the past. You and me, we're talkin' today. Future, even. So, last chance-- what are you after?"

The darkness is noticed, but she doesn't appear to appreciate what it might mean. "I want you off my back. I want you to stop back-biting me like a nest of crawlies." SHe squirms her shoulders in some awful memory of the nipping, itching little buggers. "You keep snarking at me, and I'll keep...digging." Who knows how deep the rabbit hole will go. "Not like -I- have anything to lose. I'm at the bottom of this crab pot and I have to climb my way up somehow."

"I didn't give two craps until you started pokin' your little nose where it don't belong," Taikrin retorts swiftly. "I don't want to see you. I don't want anything to do with you. I want you to leave me alone, and leave Riorde alone, and leave the hatchlings alone." Her lips twist up into an unkind smile. "I expect in return I can find my way towards ignoring you."

Rhaelyn snorts, "That's -bull-shit-." Rhaelyn says as she straightens up her shoulders, "You started in on me the first time I tried to be nice to you. YOu called me a whore. Guess that's what you think of girls who are friendly, but I didn't take too kind of it. -That- is what started this. You. Did. It." She gives a little sniff, "Riorde is one of Us. An Islander! I'm not just going to turn my back on her. She's a friend." More friend than anyone else mainlander at least, if that can be used as a measurement. There's a little scowl about leaving the hatchlings alone, "You've done your deal-making to keep me off the sands." Though from the nasty smile, it doesn't mean it'll stop her from meddling. "Don't you want me to be...intergraded into weyr society?"

"I did /not/-- wait. What?" From hot denial to confusion; Taikrin's brow knits as she tries to pull up the recollection, and apparently fails. "I don't even know what you're talkin' about. You tellin' me you're goin' on and on and you got me confused with someone else?" She lets out a bark of laughter, softened only due to proximity to the Weyrleaders' weyrs. "Funny way you got of treating your friends; keepin' the /both/ of you off the sands, ain't that right? I don't care /what/ you do; go back to the island, go to the Hold, it's all the same to me. I ain't the Weyrleader with his 'gotta control everything' kick."

"You know very well it was you." Rhaelyn's eyes are hard little picks of ice, not wavering. Not forgetting either. "You were drunk off your ass." Not prone to accept that people are forgetful when they have been drinking. The domino's have already fallen. "Us not standing is your fault too. Because I was telling Ri about you and she hit me. And She knocked me into that egg. So, fuck you. You're not going to believe me, you're going to side with her. But I'm the one who got the broken nose didn't I? But it's because of you that she's in that mess." In the strange long-way-around.

"Was I?" Taikrin is actually bemused by this fact; it's temporarily sidelined the building aggression, and though she folds her arms across her chest, she's also leaning casually against the bookcase. "Drunk people say all kinds'a stuff, darlin'. Ain't you learned that by now? I reckon I didn't even know you from Faranth, 'cause I sure don't remember meetin' you and bein' drunk at the same time." She's even not upset about the egg stuff. "You wanna fight, it's on your own head. Learn not to piss off people who're stronger'n you, yeah?" She arches an eyebrow; she, herself, is a demonstration of this. "Riorde's a big girl, it'll work itself out. She can take care of herself."

"Well, you don't remember me from that time,...why is it that you came at me like a shark with blood in the water?" Does Pern even have sharks? Maybe those big nasty fish from the island. Something like that. Rhaelyn asks it with a tight, even tone, tapping the scroll of hide against her shoulder. "Guess if Riorde can take care of herself, you don't need to worry about what -I- do around her. You warn her off those eggs? Because she's the one dangerous enough to go throwing people into eggs with no care for them." She shrugs up her shoulders though, she already knows what the blind spot is. With a sniff she moves to brush past the brownrider. "So, you want me to stop ... digging. Stop talking about your past? What's it worth to you?"

"I don't remember callin' you nothin', but I /do/ remember you jumped on me for some crazy reason some time. I /know/ that was you." As Rhaelyn moves past, Taikrin turns to keep her in sight but doesn't move to follow. A corner of her lips twists upwards in sarconic amusement. "Wait, wait. Lemme get this straight. You got a hardon for digging into my life because /some drunk person said somethin' mean to you? Faranth, it's a wonder you got any life left at all. You always this obsessive, or'm I just lucky?" Her eyes roll skywards, briefly, before she continues. "I don't care if you dig yourself to Benden. I want you to stop spreadin' old news around. It won't do nobody any good. Bad for the health, you know. Reckon I can see my way clear to pretendin' we never met, in any case."

Rhaelyn lifts up her shoulders, "You might want to think about how your actions have an effect on other people. Just because you're numb to things, doesn't mean other people...are not." She looks back at Taikrin, silent in the wake of her blowing off her reasoning and the sarcasm. In fact she notes quietly, "Just because you want to pretend you haven't been going out of your way to rub my nose every chance you get, doesn't mean it's not true." The 'deal' doesn't seem as interesting now, "Bad for the health? Really?" Dry and rather doubtful.

"Yeah, whatever." Taikrin blows off all of Rhaelyn's fine logic and reasoning with a wave of her hand. "Past's the past, like we say. And-- it is, you know. Bad for the health t'be clingin' to the past." There's still a smile playing around her mouth. "Why, you got somethin' you want better? You seem like a girl who always has her eye on somethin' or other."

There's a keen roll of eyes, skyward and then around in a loopy-loop as she looks away with an airy little sigh. "Whatever...." Not like Rha's out much for trying to reason it through right? Not being one for much smiling, Rhae just watches Taikrin and that steady grin of hers, "Lets see, what are my options here? Got my eyes on a lot of things. Can't -have- any of them." She's not saying what she'd want, clearly saying with an up and down look that she doesn't trust the brownrider if she did play her hand.

Taikrin unfolds her arms to spread her hands wide, in a gesture of mock helplessness. "Hey, you're the one wheelin' and dealin' here. I don't know what you want, except for probably not to get your nose busted open again." She turns on the charm, all of a sudden, posture easing and her smile turning a little less threatening. "Sure we can work somethin' out. Must be hard, not havin' somethin' of your own. Always borrowin'."

There might be a...moment of sniffing that something doesn't quite ring true in what Taikrin is suggestion, like the sound of a trap opening. "I'm not afraid of that." Being hit? Getting beaten down? Something along those lines. The hide keeps bouncing off her shoulder but she shifts to the other shoulder after a time. "You're right about that. Second hand...worse. No -nice- things. Like Ylynna." Her eyes that had been relaxing tighten up, more from the sudden grasp of her greedy little heart.

"I reckon Ylynna does have some nice things," Taikrin commiserates, all considerate sincerity. "Bein' a Holder's girl or whatever she is comes with a lot of nice stuff. Nice clothes, pretty jewelry. Must be tough. Girl like you, reckon you like to have pretty things, yeah?" She bumps the back of her head gently against the bookcase, as if that could jar a thought loose. "Maybe a nice dress to wear, to get the attention of a nice holder boy?"

The reminder that Ylynna has all the things she herself does not, makes Rhaelyn's lips tighten. "Yeah." She says in a quiet little sigh and an added upward swing of her shoulders. "I would love a nice dress, but since we are forbidden to go to gathers now..." The shake of her head says no, but she's still hearing that cha-ching somewhere in the echoes of that heart of hers. "What do you know about runners?" It may seem a complete deviation from the conversation they were having.

Taikrin nods along, all gentle encouragement, for this talk of dresses, and is even nodding along before she can figure out-- wait. "Runners?" Her expression falters as she tries desperately to keep up. "Uh. I know Szadath thinks they taste a little funky, when he gets to eat 'em? And, uh, I suppose people ride 'em but I ain't never been near one if I can help it."

The answer makes Rhae sneer a little, "Guess they can't be much different than heardbeasts." She's still new at all this too. "I heard that...some holds race them. They get good, fast ones and people bet..." A pause and Rhae shakes her head, "Nevermind. It's a silly idea if you don't know anything about them." Blind leading the blind and she can't even get out of the weyr.

"Meat animals are meat animals," Taikrin agrees, as if she's the one doing all the eating. "Yeah, I guess the bigger holds do gamblin' on 'em. Seems a little silly to me, bettin' on somethin' you can't control." But now the brownrider's interest is piqued, and she follows up with, "What do /you/ know about runners? Don't recall seein' anything like that on your island."

"You bet on those eggs." Maybe not Taikrin in particular but 'weyrfolk', "Up one side and down the other. HOw many are gong to clutch, when they're going to, how many. And then, when they'll hatch, how long the hatching will be, who's going to get a dragon..." Rhaelyn shrugs up her shoulders, "Seems....Bar' had a better plan with this runner-deal. At least you have some control over pick'n them and training them and...you get a cut of the..." She breaks off and scowls at herself, amending, "Bar is teaching me to ride. Borrowed runners like all the other second-hand stuff though. They are new to Us." Islanders.

"Yeah, but that's different. It's-- a Weyr thing. Everyone's gotta do it. Besides, the dragons help. Szad's pretty sure there's not gonna be a lot of girls." Gambling is, after all, one of Taikrin's favorite activities; she's put a lot of thought into this. "Bar's one of those beastcrafters or whatever? Eh, go figure. Riding runners seems kinda strange, in a Weyr, when we got dragons to take you wherever you need to go." She pauses, eyes Rhaelyn's scowl, then shrugs good-naturedly. "Well, maybe not /every/one."

"Bar', yeah beastcrafter." Something else too but Rhae doesn't touch on his life history. "What do you mean, not a lot of girls? There are mostly girl candidates." Not necessarily true but rather a point of view. "Right...not everyone." She smooths a hand down her second-rate tunic and looks down at herself before returning to eye Taikrin now that she's truly side-tracked the whole conversation with her fancy about runners. "So...dresses. And hair clips...and...and a new pair of boots."

"Not girl /candidates/. Girl dragons. He don't think there's a lot of girls. Well, except for that gold." Her lips twist, wryly: a rare flash of real emotion. "Somethin' I'd take his word on; Szad really likes the greens." All greens. But now they're back to business, and she sets to bargaining without ever seeming to actually negotiate. "Girls ought to have a pretty outfit, for goin' to the gather. Reckon it's too late for the hatching feast, but there'll be other parties." Her head tilts, slightly, as she looks Rhaelyn up and down. "I know a person."

"That's a strange wager. Not many girl dragons. What does that mean? One gold...one green?" Rhaelyn's keen attention picks out that emotion while her own simmers somewhere within. A blink at the acceptance of her desires and gives her head a nod. "Might even get a chance to wear them out." Dress for success right? "And there's a footpress that woodsmith has been taunting me with...." Yeah, because sticking it to /him/ would be perfect too!

"A clutch is usually about half greens, so-- less." Taikrin's not really fixed on that anymore. "I don't know no woodsmiths, and nothin' about presses. We're talkin' pretty things to wear out." Apparently she has a line, even if she's not willing to state it flat out. "Pretty dresses for a pretty girl who knows how to keep her pretty mouth shut, right?"

Rhaelyn's head tips to one side, acceptance of the deal that is being sketched out. Her mouth does hitch to one side in a little smile though, "Right. I should be so busy looking in the mirror, with how pretty the dresses are, that I won't have time for anything else." Her shoulder lifts and falls, "And I won't have to keep guarding my heels.....right?"

"I got no use for pretty girls in dresses. Ain't my type." As should be readily apparent, giving the company Taikrin keeps. "After the hatching; weavers are all working themselves silly makin' crap for people to wear. I'll find you."

"Yeah. Ok." Rhaelyn states when Taikrin states her preference, at least in the form of what she doesn't like. She takes a step back, but most likely because she's getting ready to make her departure. The scroll is left on a table, not ever being unrolled for viewing. "Sure. After the hatching." Disbelief lurks in that look she casts to the brownrider but she has nothing but time to see what materializes. "Night then."

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