Difference between revisions of "Logs:Like A Fish"

The Women-Watching Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#1381R)

Luckily for the dragon, the inside weyr boasts a couch with a hollow that has conformed to the shape of many bronze bodies over the turns. It progresses in a series of smaller bubbles back into the rock: the first is an evenly round affair, wide open to the outside and with shelves carved along the wall opposite the dragon's wallow to hold sundry draconic items. The second room is a bit cozier, though it manages to squeeze in all the necessities. The entryway is too small for anyone but a human, and closed off with a thick cloth hanging. Inside, there is a small hearth that is swept clean, and room for at least a couch and table, perhaps even a desk: there is an indented nook opposite the hearth that looks as though it might have held one in the past. Separated by another hanging, the next bubble cavern is large enough for a double bed with just enough room to squeeze by into the last, tiny cavern that holds the true prize of this weyr: a coveted bath, large enough for two if they're cozy.

Taikrin's convinced herself that it's just exhaustion that's greyed out Szadath's hide, that's darkened the circles under her eyes and left her pale. It certainly hasn't unstiffened her spine any. The brown lands on Sforzath's ledge only long enough for his rider to scramble off-- then he's back down, winging sharply to a vantage point where he can keep an eye both on the sleeping Hraedhyth and Iesaryth. "Hey. Riorde." Her voice is all business as she clomps her way into the weyr. "You up? Know you're home."

The weyr's quiet inside, but not empty. More than one bottle has been abandoned on the floor, out here in the outer bubble; the curtain drawn across the entrance to the next one in conceals how many more might be laying around in total. Sforzath's tucked into his wallow, ashen. He lifts his head as Taikrin strides in, just enough to show Riorde curled into the curve of where his shoulder meets his neck. Without opening her eyes, she mutters into her dragon in a voice gone raspy, "Go away."

Whether Taikrin is tone-deaf to the situation or simply doesn't care, the outcome is the same: "Come on, get up. I need you." She hesitates by Sforzath's wallow, arms folded across her chest, and insists, "I can't watch 'em both by myself, and I ain't sure I really trust everyone else to help out. They might fuck it up." She hasn't even finished giving her ultimatum before she pushes further into the weyr, straight to pull some clean clothes; she steps right around a bottle without even appearing to notice.

"Go away." A little more strength, this time. Riorde turns enough so that she can glare at Taikrin below Sforzath's neck, working up just enough energy to crack open her red-rimmed eyes. "Not going." The interior room is surprisingly clean, given the state of the weyr surrounding Sforzath.

Taikrin continues on gathering a clean shirt and (probably) clean riding pants. "We ain't got time for this, we've got to-- oh, hey, this is mine." The shirt she'd pulled aside from Riorde is held up, and then she's pulling her dirty one over her head to swap for her find. "Way I see it, we need to have one guard on each of 'em all the time close up, and then someone shadowing from behind just to be sure. You talked a lot with Brieli? If not, reckon you can start on Azaylia, familiar face and all." Beat. "Your bath clean?"

Riorde doesn't waste words arguing. She also doesn't move. While Taikrin busies herself in Riorde's weyr, the other brownrider shifts just enough to re-position her head, and then Sforzath's neck comes down as a barrier to shut her off from the rest of the world.

There's silence, too, on Taikrin's end. She stands perfectly still, clothes clutched too-tightly in her hands, and stares hard at where Riorde has sequestered herself. Finally she tromps back over to the brown on his couch, still clutching the garments, and demands of him: "Move."

Sforzath's no more obliging than Riorde is, especially when her muffled voice rises up to countermand Taikrin's order. "Not moving. Go away. What don't you understand? Go away." It's the most she's said thus far, and by the end of the third statement, she sounds exhausted.

Is the sound of Taikrin's teeth grinding audible? Because it should be. "I know you're upset, and probably hungover, and it flaming well sucks, but I need you to pull it together-- " Spots of color appear in Taikrin's cheeks, and the timbre of her voice is rapidly rising out of her control. "-- before another one DIES!"

"Upset?" The rising pitch of Riorde's voice is nigh well hysterical. Sforzath lifts his head too, so his rider can see who she's begun to scream at. "You don't know anything. Get someone else from Glacier. Go away. GET OUT." Riorde hasn't just got a three-quarters empty bottle in there with her; her fingers are wrapped around the hilt of a knife, the one Taikrin gave her at her first Gather several Turns ago.

Oh, good. Screaming. Taikrin likes screaming. She likes knives even better. "FUCK YOU. You think just 'cause she was your friend, 'cause yer both from that place-- she was MY WEYRWOMAN TOO. And now the only Weyrwomen we got left fucking NEED you to fucking get UP here and help me fucking keep them ALIVE before his fucking INCOMPETENCE gets one of THEM killed TOO!" Her arms are spread wide, as if inviting an attack.

The grip tightens, knuckles as white as her eyes are red. "Get THE FUCK out," Riorde screams right back, only sitting up because it doesn't really feel right to yell from half lying down. Not enough lung power. "I'm not the only rider in Glacier. You didn't even LIKE her. Don't fucking tell me what to do." The impact of the glass bottle she throws punctuates her response. It's wide; with all their practice slinging firestone, even with a raging hangover, even throwing with her off hand, Riorde could still probably hit Taikrin if she really tried.

Taikrin doesn't cry; it's not a thing she does. But her dark-circled eyes are red-rimmed, to match the ugly blotches of color in her pale cheeks. "FUCK YOU, I NEED YOU." In what's got to be the stupidest move of the century, she advances a few paces closer so that she can yell all the more effectively. "I can't fucking trust those fuckers, I NEED YOU to help me keep them ALIVE. They're fucking GOING TO DIE while you sit here and fucking CRY!"

"FUCK YOU." Riorde's hardly coherent enough to form a more cogent reply. She starts to scrabble up, first to her knees and then getting her feet under her, ducking low to clear Sforzath so she can come scream at Taikrin at even closer range. Within reach, should she strike out. "GET SOMEONE ELSE." She leads with her left, still having enough sense not to turn the blade on her girlfriend.

Taikrin probably could move. She could probably grapple or counter or twist or any of the many, many evasions she's developed such a skill for. Instead, she just stands there and takes it. Like a (wo)man.

Riorde doesn't pull her punch. Not even a little. So her fist goes smashing into Taikrin's face. Riorde follows the momentum of it forward, keeping her knife-hand clear. "You don't know ANYTHING."

Taikrin's going to have one bloody face and probably a black eye to boot. She grunts at the impact and staggers a few steps away. But then she straightens, swipes a hand at the blood trickling from where a tooth caught her lip, and taunts, "That's it? You're gonna have to learn me harder."

So Riorde goes swinging again. At least, this time, it isn't a repeat performance of a fist to the face as she goes for the gut instead. "Fuck you," she gets out once more before she's sobbing outright. "I'm going to kill them. I'm going to gut them like a fucking fish."

This time Taikrin moves, stepping in to limit the power of the suckerpunch to the gut-- and so she's closer to try and grapple-slash-hug Riorde. "Fuck YES we will."

Instead of struggling away, Riorde's weight collapses into Taikrin, and then she's crying messily into the other woman's neck mindless of the blood. The sobs shudder through her, but it doesn't prevent her from repeating, "I'm going to kill them." Her grip never slackens on the knife.

"Yeah, okay, don't worry baby, we're gonna kill 'em dead. I swear to you." This is Taikrin's version of comfort, though her embrace is warm and strong enough-- just a little bloody. The swelling in her cheek will soon have her eye mostly closed, but that just makes her promises all the more dire. "I swear."