Logs:Rollover and Play Dead
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| RL Date: 18 May, 2009 |
| Who: Ajatha, K'ndro, N'thei, W'chek |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| 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. Lunch time is frequently met by a mass exodus of weyrlings out of the barracks, scattering in different directions depending upon lifemates and tummies. Those, like K'ndro, who've still got extra lessons to sit through are usually especially quick to flee. Most, unlike K'ndro, leave their books behind. The younger of the mountainous weyrlings is today not sitting with his fellows, avoiding the distraction of animated chatter. He's over at one of the smaller tables that line the walls, only big enough for four chairs - five if someone takes the end. He's got a plate piled perilously high with food that's being slowly and steadily munched through, a mug of steaming hot klah and a glass of juice. And a book. Yes, he's -still- studying, one thick finger slowly tracing the words on the page as he reads. Somewhere, someone actually still believes N'thei's a decent human being and worth feeding. That person seems confined to the kitchens, so word hasn't exactly gotten out yet. But it suffices to have him leaving the kitchen with his own food, rather than waiting through the line at the serving table for whatever lunch-slop gets set out for the general masses. Any given table would suffice, but he happens to pick K'ndro's, where he dumps the plate in front of the chair at one end of it, shrugs out of his coat, and parks himself with mute possession of the immediate vicinity. Like W'chek, say, those who are quick to flee with books forgotten as soon as they have. Only he's taken a little time in making it over to the lunch table today as most days, because it involved disentangling himself from the usual midday interrogation by a pinched-looking woman who's always calling him Whitchek. By the time she's done with him, he manages to get a mug of klah but seems to bypass the actual food for a cup of klah and a chance to deposit himself right by K'ndro, who made the mistake of expressing that he might possibly have some redeeming qualities and will pay for that forever. "You are such a swot. How can you fail everything *and* be a swot?" It's only after that, that N'thei's presence at the end of the table registers. "Uh, hi." The thumping down of another plate brings intent brown eyes up away from the pages of that book, K'ndro blinking a bit as he refocuses. And then blinking quite a bit more as he sees just who it is who's making mute claim of that space. "Sir," is the extent of his greeting, or somewhat greeting. There is a tiny lilt of question in his deep voice, and in the small rise of his eyebrows. Eyebrows that only get lifted higher as -W'chek- of all people voluntarily sits down beside him. Are the flaming meteors falling from the sky, yet? "Huh?" Yeeeaah, Mik, that sounded intelligent. Unfamiliar slang, yay! "Look, jus' 'cause -all- ye got t'brush up on is history, an' yer doin' such a fine job o'that, an' all, 'Chek." Hmph. How in the world does K'ndro ever think that he can escape the fold of his wing? That would utterly mystify Ajatha, but right at this early moment, as she's coming from the deeper bowels of the weyr, she's being spellbound by a still-spry-for-her-age looking woman with long, gray hair and actively gesturing hands as she tells some sort of story. At the end, Jathi beams radiantly and drapes an arm around the woman with a kiss to her cheek. "Thank you for the story, granma. I have to get something to eat, but I'll come check in on you later tonight." Rezera eyes the woman up and down and nods her head in that 'g'on and eat, you ain't nothin' but skin and bones' type of motion before wandering off to settle in by a hearth to warm her old bones. Rolling her eyes affectionately, she ambles over to help herself to a hearty portion of whatever's on the menu today and a brimming glass of juice and klah, what might be more than her slim arms can carry, but she manages it, with one hand lifting her tray over her head with a practiced motion. Bartending has -some- benefits, looks like. Where else does she sit but right near K'ndro and W'chek without even pausing to look about. "K'ndro, you did much better on your quizzes this time." Note of pride? Yup. Being that she was the one that graded it. Alighting there in a chair, she only notices the other big-ass guy over at the end and dips her head respectfully. "Sir." It's been called the dead-fish look, the one that N'thei raises across the table toward that uh-hi. "Boys," is the answering greeting, such as it is, followed by a glance up to the third weyrling in range. Is it painfully obvious that he's starting to regret picking this particular table? Because it really should be. Where the boys at least got some sort of verbal acknowledgement, Ajatha will just have to make due with that glance. Sexism is a hard-won trait, and one he wears without shame. Unfamiliar, whatever. W'chek is not explaining himself, because he's already moved on to high dudgeon. "Quizzes? Seriously? I mean, here we are, and it's lunchtime," not that he's actually got a lunch but never mind that, please, "and you're still on about all of that stuff. Class is out. I don't see any reason to bother with it until tomorrow." Which might be why he's still doing so abysmally. N'thei is evidently in old-man mode again, but Whit's not going to object. Maybe even take advantage: "Did they have *you* all on academics when you were weyrlings?" Hey, look, he actually is studying. It's history. Ancient history, nearly. Not one, not two, but three! K'ndro should've gone and hid in his mother's weyr, or something. Although that... would be worse. She has a cane and she's not afraid to use it. N'thei might like her. Anyway. Suppressing his sigh, just, he folds the book closed and nudges it carefully towards the corner of the table where hopefully it'll be even less likely to get gravy dripped on it. He does grin a bit, happily, for Jathi when she appears, shoulders straightening a touch out of their slouch. "Thank ye darlin.' That last one was a doozy though. Think ye can give me a break an' be a little less obscure, next time?" Asked with a wink, since he pretty much did ask her to show no mercy. Lucky N'thei might even be on the receiving edge of some of that cheer, before it fades entirely beneath dubiousness. Mik opens his mouth, shuts it again, and then just stares for a moment at whittering W'chek. "Why ye got such a problem, W'chek? I got a load of stuff t'catch up on an' I'd like t'actually -pass- most 'f m'exams next time 'round. We got too much else t'learn fer me t'be wastin' s'much time on -basics.-" Which still stings, a little, but while other children were learning proper punctuation he was learning how to survive outside the safety of stone. "Th'dragonhealing's gettin' more complex an' our dragons're gettin' bigger an' etiquette'll be turin' int'politics soon enough an' -we--" hand-waggle to indicate himself and the other bronzeling "-especially gotta learn that." Aah, well, doesn't that sound unfamiliar. Ajatha casts her sleek gaze across at the former weyrleader and eyes him up and down, subtly from under those lashes. But whatever she's got on her mind comes to naught when she tips her head to the side to scrutinize K'ndro and Whit. "Yes, quizzes. I've been helping Z'yi tutor K'ndro. And he's getting better, because he's being challenged and not left to his own devises, in which time he might slack off and forget some of it." Sideglance at Kandy. "Which I'm totally not saying you would." Valley Girl 'totally'. Glance back. "I think that deserves a little praise." All kinds of laziness in her tone, but the direct look shot at W'chek is purely amused. "Do you have a problem with that, W'chek?" Her mouth quirks at something in K'ndro's ramble, but she reins it in, picking at her food. "I might can loosen up on the obscurity a -tiny- bit. But then, where would you be? 'Sides, you asked for it." Literally. N'thei eats. Because that's what he came to do. He's in the middle of this occupation when W'chek persists in talking to him, causing him to slow down chewing so it takes that much longer before he's ready to reply. "Think you're special enough that the whole curriculum got re-written for you?" After a pause, after a quirk at the corner of his mouth that very possibly might have been threatening to become a smile, he adds, "Or stupid enough?" K'ndro's sob story meets a blank stare, like N'thei can't be totally sure the weyrling's actually talking to /him/. Then, derisive; "And you want a pep talk or something?" "Look, in the long run, it's not like there's *Thread* or anything," says W'chek over his klah mug. He manages to take a drink from it, there's a faint wrinkling of the nose and he sets it back down again. "And I have no idea why you think, K'ndro, that *we* need any more of that than anybody else. I'm certainly not intending to make any use of it, and I don't care what that harridan--" Which harridan? Probably the one he was talking to earlier. "--thinks I ought to do with my life." But, to N'thei: "Stupid enough, possibly. *I'm* not after any pep talks." Too much chance that they would include violence. K'ndro? Actually blushes. A bit. Jaaaaathi, his pleased-yet-embarrassed eyes say without any help from his voice as he looks across at her. "Ain't gonna forget," he assures her in a quiet rumble, before focusing for a while on his food. There's a plate underneath it all somewhere, and he's determined to find it. "Sittin' through more remedial classes again next month, too, likely," he answers for where he'd be. HE quirks his eyebrows at N'thei, blink blink, and just shakes his head in puzzled fashion. "Pep talk? Shards no, sir, I was jus' sayin' what we got t'look forward to. Some 'f it, anyway." The puzzled look transfers easily in the other direction to W'chek, if anything becoming even -more- confused. Has he not looked at the colour of his dragon? His words, though, are simply, "Best t'be prepared fer any 'ventuality, 's all. Jus' 'cause somethin' ain't likely don't mean ye shouldn't be ready." "If you can't guess why you might need just a touch more, then you're obviously missing something. Thread not fallin' nonwithstandin'. Best safe than sorrah," Ajatha tones, but that seems to be all she's going to say to Whit. Instead, she glances back at K'ndro and pointedly drags up her juice to mask the grin that's taking possession of her mouth at the blushing. "Good. And no, y'won't be failin'. Y'do and Iszy and me both'll bet after y'tail." There's a steely look his way, only softened by a merry dance of her eyes. Here's a pep talk, aimed specifically at W'chek-- the one in whose direction N'thei stabs the prongs of his fork. "You need it because they say you need it. No one gives a rat's ass what /you/ think you ought to do with your life. You do what you're told to do." Also, after Ajatha chimes in, with his attention turned down a little toward his plate so a lot of the remark gets lost among his food; "Lot of you sound like you need effing diction lessons." Except he says the actual word instead of the "effing" replacement. "Well, that's just *evident*, isn't it. And maybe I don't give a rat's ass what I'm told to do, so that kind of creates an *impasse*, doesn't it." W'chek drums his fingers on the table. Only then, to K'ndro and Ajatha: "Look, if by some--" Is there an opposite of a miracle? "--horrific chance something *were* to happen, it's pretty obvious that the standards around here are not spectacularly high. I'll study then, if it'll make you happy, but it's never going to happen so I. Don't. Care." "Y'forgot Xado," K'ndro points out helpfully for Jathi's list of people who're likely to beat him if he fails his exams again. He's still sporting bruises from that -fun game- C'sel dragged them out in the snow for, after all. As he munches through some more food, he doesn't seem to realise that he's also nodding along in agreement with N'thei. What? The man has a point. Slowly, he lays his fork down, finishes chewing that last bite and swallows. Picks up his glass of juice and drains half in two long swallows. Sets it down as carefully as the fork. Takes a deep breath, and -doesn't- attempt to rearrange Whit's face into a more pleasing concave arrangement. "Ye are a derisive, disrespectful piece of *dung* an' deservin' o'nothin' s'much as a beatin' right now, W'chek," he says so very, dangerously calmly. Also using the actual expletive instead of the safe-for-work edit. The legs of his chair scrape across the floor and he pushes to his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and the book from the corner of the table. "If ye'll excuse me, I got t'go oil Xadovith." It's a believable excuse, given how that dry hide soaks the stuff up. "Listen, boy." N'thei puts down his fork. It being too tempting a thing right now. "Apparently, we're not clear yet. You don't talk to me like that, and you sure as hell don't talk to anyone else like that. You have some sort of problem with following orders, best you keep it to yourself." Where K'ndro seems to think discretion is the better part of valor, N'thei seems to think beating the crap out of people is a good method of conflict resolution. His eyes chase the other weyrling, but there's no effort made to waylay his departure. "Xado's a given," Jathi notes by way of validating exactly what they both say. But Whit just makes her scowl his way. "Look. I don't care if you don't give a rat's ass about learning whatever we have to in weyrlinghood. I hear tell that you only accepted search because of duty. Well, -this- is duty. You learn so you don't get yourself, your dragon, or anyone else killed. You learn, so that -maybe- those low standards you mentioned -might- be lifted in case something -did- happen. Who knows what, but there's the possibility. Even if you have to be some -semblense- of diplomatic." No snorting, K'ndro. "But you do whatever you please, W'chek. But if you're going to, then you do it in your -own- time. The rest of the time, do what you can to be one of us. You just don't make the rest of us look bad, and don't get us killed because you don't happen to -care- about any of this. Some of us do. The wing's only as strong as its weakest link, and -you- are one of the wing. Whether you like it not. And you -will- be, until you graduate and get tapped into another one." She sounds -so- certain that he will survive to graduation. "So maybe you need to take a good look at y'self before you go snarking about any of our habits or how much we care for how we do academically or how we prep for the future. Don't you -dare- take any of us down with you." Steel in pure dark velvet, no hint of sweetness. She seems to have lost most of her appetite, so she hooks her jacket from the back of her chair. "K'ndro, wait for me." Well, maybe either of those is better than W'chek's general method of conflict resolution, which is, well, shooting dirty looks at people and being fairly sulky. "Yes, well," he says to K'ndro, "I'm sure there's a whole club of people just waiting on the opportunity to do that, so by all means." A gesture encompasses, for instance, the bronzerider at the end of the table. But then, to Ajatha, "I made a mistake at the time. Obviously. It's a mistake I'd like to avoid in the future. Thanks for your concern." But he's not going anywhere, if they are. So he's stuck sitting there with his barely-touched klah. Since N'thei's not objecting to his leaving, K'ndro juggles the book from hand to hand as he pulls on his jacket, and then his long legs are stretching to take him away from the table in a brisk stride. He doesn't even look over his shoulder when Jathi's impressive tirade fills the air. Doesn't even slow until words are actually directed at him, specifically. Without turning, he stops and waits for his brown-almost-riding clutchmate, and once she's next to him, moves as if to sling an arm about her shoulders and continue out into the wind together. N'thei's decision about Ajatha; "Talks too much." But, as the two of them are leaving and W'chek is busier smarting off at them than himself, he leaves it there and goes on about finishing his lunch. Priorities. "'Parently Zhikath didn't think it was a mistake," Ajatha tosses back as she finally rises and saunters after K'ndro, throwing an arm around him companionably - and then they are quite gone - whoever knows where, though. Into the wild white world. "Yeah, well." W'chek says it even though K'ndro and Ajatha are both gone now, after them like somehow they could hear, maybe because it seems slightly more sane than talking to himself. "Like he's got any good sense, if the choice alone wasn't enough of an indication." He drums his fingers on the table, looking down at his klah mug. Then over at N'thei. And then back at the mug. "She does. Talk too much. Everybody around here talks too much." Himself included, most likely. "Want me tell you about pots and kettles, son? Least she's bright enough not to shoot off at the mouth about insubordination int he middle of the living cavern." N'thei jabs his fork into something he doesn't plan to finish and leaves it there, leaning back with his arms folded to level a highly-disappointed-in-you look down the table. Fingers curl around the klah mug like *it* understands, it's the one refuge here that W'chek might possibly have. Great. He's got a mug of klah, and Madilla. That's bound to work out well. And the klah has to be cold by now. "If I don't say what I think, people get upset. If I say what I think, people get upset. And I am not a liar. Where does that leave me? Kinda have to stop caring if people get upset." "Leaves you," begins N'thei, who has neither a klah mug nor a woman-- so don't freaking cry about how tragic life is, kid! "Learning to keep your trap shut about things as you have no business complaining about. Nobody likes doing as they're told because it's as they're told, but you do it, and you don't fucking complain about it." One hand lets go--maybe the other grips a little tighter to compensate--and W'chek points at N'thei, down the table, there. "Ah. But why? Because someone said to and I'm supposed to do as I'm told. Do you see the catch, there?" Pause. "So the alternative is to do what I'm told because someone bigger than I am is going to hurt me if I don't. Let's hear it for the enlightened Weyrs." N'thei seizes on the first with a clipped, "Doesn't matter why. You're not in a position to ask why. When you are, then you'll understand why you don't ask it in the first place." In short: "Shut it, and do what you're fucking told." Annoyed, he takes it out on his plate, standing to dump it off in a dish bin with a satisfying clatter of silverware and flatware. "When. Do you think I'm *ever* going to be in that position? Please." W'chek finally manages to pick the mug of klah up again, and drinks, although the look on his face afterwards indicates that it's hit the point of being pretty vile stuff. "So, I'm never going to be important. And I'm never going to fit. Maybe some folks just don't. So, what, I roll over and play dead for the rest of my life? Would anybody do that? Would you?" Point the first, "/I/ was the Weyrleader." And the second, "/K'del/ is the Weyrleader. Really so far-fetched?" N'thei heads back to his chair, purpose being to collect his coat and stuff. "Take orders, don't I? From a boy as was still in the nursery while I was bleeding for this place. Save the don't-fit-in weeping for someone as cares whether you live or die, boy. All I care is that you do as you're told." "All that proves," W'chek points out at first, "is that I'm not tall enough." The thing about humor is that sometimes it's not about being funny, sometimes it's about avoiding the issue by as wide a margin as possible. He still hasn't budged from his chair. "So, fine, I stand corrected, you're more than happy to roll over and play dead. Still not entirely sure why you care even that much. You *were* the Weyrleader. Now you're... what? Meddling. You can just go and be thankful I'm not your problem." "Now I'm still bigger than you, and that's all as matters, isn't it. You spout off about how you don't care to follow orders from anyone here, /anyone/, and it's in my hearing, count on it being my problem." Yes, let's hear it for the enlightened Weyrs, and the thugs that pave the way for them. N'thei pauses, just to be sure the point is impressed, just to give the kid a chance to acknowledge the meat of the issue. "What's he think of your beating on weyrlings? Your Weyrleader." W'chek leans, tips his chair back on two legs. "Doesn't matter." Thunk, as it hits down again. "Maybe I just want to get hit. Be a convenient perversion, wouldn't it? Or maybe I'll be good. Since you asked real nice and said please and everything." He downs the last of the klah and props his elbows on the table, presses the heels of his hands against his forehead. "Go to hell," slightly muffled. N'thei probably will. If there is hell for the Pernese. Or, in a poetic way, he's probably already there. Either way, he seems satisfied that he's made enough of a point that he can leave without actually punching W'chek. Maybe next time. |
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