Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Flights Of Insults And Punches"

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.

Seldom is a night when Snowasis can't be considered lively. Tonight is no exception. K'zin is among the drinkers, though laughter around the bronzerider's stool at the bar seems to be lacking. The brunette's head is bent over his drink and where he's usually partial to a beer or ale, tonight he's indulging in something stronger. It's a shotglass, and there are a pair of others stacked. Drunk seems to be the aim, and a cheap drunk at that. Whatever it is in the liquid, the way K'zin winces as the shot goes down says that it's hardly something of high quality.

K'del's approach to the bar has nothing to do with K'zin - indeed, it's only after he's slid into the barstool next to the younger bronzerider's that he seems to actually realise who it is he's sitting next to. It's not a subtle reaction, that sudden twitch, and the way he turns his gaze away so deliberately, his shoulders like a wall between them. "Whisky," he orders of the barmaid. "And a beer."

"K'del," K'zin's greeting is lackluster, but at least it's not angry, angsty, or rude. There's the slightest lift of his jaw to indicate further acknowledgement of the man that he's not contact in nearly three months, the longest silence between them by far since K'zin's Impression and K'del's subsequent mentorship of him. "How 'bout that wingleader meeting yesterday." At this point, the excitement in the wingleader meetings and the different factions breaking out might as well be like the local sports teams skirmishing. As a Silver Threader, K'zin, of course, gets a front row seat for the actions. And since K'del has started attending the meetings, well... why not ask. "Things are getting preeetty exciting around here."

There have probably been times over the past three months when K'del has considered reaching out to K'zin... but he hasn't done so. Now, turning his head to regard the other man, his expression is largely impassive. Tone clipped, he says, "They would be a great deal less exciting, and more beneficial to the Weyr, if we had a Weyrleader." He cracks his knuckles, rubbing at the winter-dry skin as he turns his attention back towards the polished top of the bar.

"A Weyrleader." K'zin echoes, his tone bland, almost bored. "What a novel idea." He unstacks the three shot glasses, as he goes on, "You know, Rasavyth's never felt the mindtouch of a Weyrleader's dragon. Nor of a true senior of the Weyr he's loyal to. None of them have." Them, the weyrlings. "Maybe one of those golds will hurry on up and rise so things can get less complicated around here." A pause as he focuses on balancing the third glass perfectly evenly between the bottom two. It's not a hard feat and nothing that puts the glasses into jeopardy, it's just the exactness of the balance he wants to get right. "I don't even know if they'll recognize it when it happens. But I guess they probably will. Biology. It's built into them to lead, follow, obey. Too bad riders aren't so easy." He flicks a glance towards K'del then, probably to check and see if the older man is even still there.

K'del is still there, and still listening despite the air he's been trying to project - the one that suggests that he's terribly busy and looking elsewhere. His own drinks arrive, and he sinks the one into the other, keeping his hands busy for several seconds before he says, finally, not even looking at K'zin, "They'll know. Is it too bad? I have no interest in having my free will taken away from me at the whim of another person. Forced to obey. Forced to follow. That way leads to tyrants." He stares at his drink, holding on to it tight.

"That," K'zin notes dryly, "-was sarcasm. Sorry if my slurring made it unclear." Another shot was ordered when K'del's drinks arrive and K'zin watches the movements of the bartender that took it. He glances toward the older bronzerider. "Forced to obey and forced to follow, yeah, that'd be pretty full of suck. Having someone tell you want to do. Tell you what you can and can't do. Can and can't know." The shot arrives and he picks it up. "So you're still pissed at me, huh?" At least this is a change from wingleader meetings: he's being direct.

"Funny," says K'del, turning around bodily to regard K'zin over the rim of his glass. "It rather sounds like you're pissed at me. You should stop drinking while you're ahead." He begins to slide off of his stool.

"'Nope." The 'p' pops in an exaggerated way. "You keep all the secrets you like." Those are the words K'zin says, but the tone is strongly indicative of 'I don't need you.' "Guess I better start getting used to taking your orders, hm?" The younger bronzerider eyes the shot but doesn't act yet. "Guess it's only a matter of time before Cadejoth does what Cadejoth does best." This makes him smile, a wry smile, amused, though his eyes haven't left the shot.

"I'm not--" comes out before mention of Cadejoth. He's not Acting Weyrleader. He's not Weyrleader. But K'zin has continued. "There's no guarantee of that. You might get lucky. Or I might get lucky." He's standing, now, but not yet making any move to walk away. "And if we're all really lucky, Rasavyth won't even chase. Last thing we need is a Weyrleader who doesn't know the difference between 'public information' and 'stuff that doesn't need to be circulated'." Now he'll take a step forward, away.

It's a good thing K'del isn't Weyrleader. Surely the punishment for throwing a punch at a Wingsecond has to be not quite as bad as throwing a punch at the Weyrleader. "All these turns in a Weyr and you don't know better than to insult someone three sheets to the wind?" K'zin's question comes as his hand reaches to fall on K'del's shoulder, intending to stop him from just landing a barb and walking away with no bruise to show for it. There's a punch ready to fly if the older bronzerider turns.

K'del forcibly yanks his body free, spilling beer and whisky in the process: it covers his hand, dripping down his sleeve and to the floor. "Know better than to drink myself stupid," he says, without turning, though he has stopped walking. "Know better than to believe I have a right to all information. And," now he turns, his expression icy cold. "I sure as fuck know better than--" Presumably, there's a punch to interrupt him, right about then.

Never let it be said that K'zin was not obliging. Icy expression wasn't even needed, but adds just a little more anger into the punch that connects firmly with K'del's jaw, the other arm coming up to guard. Alida and Jo would be proud that in this inebriated moment he remembers to do that much. "But you don't know better than to think you know best, Wannabe Weyrleader!" is retorted right back to the words that the older bronzerider was able to get out before the fist.

That fist bloodies K'del's lip, and yet, he stands unmoving and unmoved. That expression? That's pity. Dismissive pity. "Feeling better?" he wonders. "Powerful? The big man? Forget it. Go sober up, K'zin. Grow up." To the barmaid, over the other bronzerider's shoulder: "Cut him off." Because he? He's turning to go. Your punch changes nothing, K'zin. Nothing.

Ugh. Pity. That's worse that a punch in the face. K'zin glares at the bronzerider, but doesn't answer the words. He lingers only long enough to slap marks down on the counter and head toward whichever exit is the opposite of K'del's.

Comments

Zian (Zian (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 02 Jul 2013 05:42:19 GMT.

I'll take this one off your hands too.

Alida (Alida (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 02 Jul 2013 20:51:20 GMT.

Way ta go with the block, Waki! And, uhm... yeah. ^^ ;)