Logs:Insubordination
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| RL Date: 25 March, 2012 |
| Who: Lia, Taikrin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Parts of Boreal have decided that they get to sit at the Weyrleader's table. That shit don't fly with Taikrin. |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions |
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| 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." 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) 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. 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. 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. CommentsAzaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 26 Mar 2013 07:55:50 GMT. <
Oh man. Intense does not even begin to describe this. *rubs hands* Things are gettin' good.
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Nice stuff, guys.
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Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 26 Mar 2013 07:55:50 GMT.
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Oh man. Intense does not even begin to describe this. *rubs hands* Things are gettin' good.
Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 26 Mar 2013 14:44:40 GMT.
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Nice stuff, guys.
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