Logs:A Kid So Hot T'Be Beat
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| RL Date: 31 July, 2010 |
| Who: K'del, Taikrin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After her altercation with Sho, Taikrin gets brought in to see K'del. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 5, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Sho/Mentions |
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| 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. It's long been held as common knowledge that the Weyrleader can usually be found in the Council Chambers of an afternoon, and that if he's there, he's generally considered interruptible. This afternoon, as the hour heads steadily on towards that of the evening meal, Cadejoth would be able to confirm his rider's presence - but so too would a visit. K'del sits at the great table, which is spread with papers, though, for the moment, the bronzerider seems more focused on pouring himself a drink, standing in front of the little alcove with his back to the room. The rider who accompany Taikrin into the council couldn't /quite/ be called an escort. There's too much easy joviality, mostly on Taikrin's part, though the older bluerider at her side can't help but crack an answering smile. Once K'del is in sight, though, he assumes an expression resembling seriousness. "Sir. Iseith says he filled Cadejoth in? On the, uh," An awkward glance at Taikrin, who's as calm as can be - even vaguely amused, then, "-uh, disturbance? Brought Taikrin in here to, uh, report?" This is obviously not where he would like to be just now. The bluerider's entrance matches the whiskey bottle's return to the shelf, and a moment later, K'del is turning about to consider the pair of riders, eyes first on Iseith's, and then, more lingeringly, on Szadath's. He keeps his silence until his glass is back on the table, and he has returned to his seat, and then, head tilting just slightly to one side, he asks of the bluerider, "Did you witness this-- disturbance, Bluerider? Have you anything of your own to add, or should I just be talking to the brownrider?" "No, sir," the bluerider admits ruefully, with another sidelong glance at Taikrin. "Situation seemed wrapped up by the time we got there. A wet brownrider and a bloody boy, sir." Taikrin is, indeed, quite wet -- water is no longer dripping from her hair and jacket, but it's a near thing. More telling, there are a few droplets of blood spattered on her shirt that are obviously not hers, since she's otherwise untouched. "Wrapped up pretty quick, too, from what we could tell." He edges a step backwards, apparently happy to put Taikrin on the spot as he adds, "Boy won't be telling much of his story too soon." As the bluerider speaks, K'del's attention slides back towards Taikrin, looking her up and down in a way that, no doubt, implies he's picked up a lot from just her appearance. "Very well. Thank you for bringing her over, Bluerider. Taikrin and I will have a conversation about her story, in the meantime. If you happen to see the boy? Send him over, too." It's a dismissal, and though made with something close to a small, certainly doesn't encourage any further commentary. To Taikrin, finally; "Did you take /any/ hits?" It ends up sounding long-suffering. The bluerider is quick to pick up on the dismissal, and fires off a quick, "Sir. I will, sir. Might want to check the infirmary, though." One final glance at Taikrin, then he's pivoting on his heel and making all haste out the door. For her part, Taikrin doesn't even flinch. Instead, her gaze remains fixed on K'del, her posture forcibly relaxed. "Hey, he got me first, didn't he? Dumped that whole pitcher on me, out of nowhere. Just mindin' my own business, me, 'till he came along." Doubtless, this part of the story has been relayed as well-- it's got the sound of something repeated verbatim several times over by now. K'del's fingers wrap about the edges of his glass as his eyebrows raise: he looks distinctly dubious. "Cut it, Taikrin," is his short, sharp request, as soon as she's finished speaking. "From what I hear, you just beat that kid to a bloody pulp in the middle of the living caverns, and that doesn't fly with me. So." He pauses, using the time to lift the glass to his mouth to take a sip, to swallow it. "Tell me what /really/ happened. Why it seemed so important you dismember him in public." "Yeah, see, but-- I /was/," Taikrin repeats, only a little more nervous-looking at K'del's tone. "Just finished grabbin' a bite with J'rem, an' I was hangin' out by myself, an' he came up an' wrecked my /new/ leathers an' started spoutin' off all kind of crap. So." She shrugs, hands spread to indicate her helplessness. "Had t'pop him one. Only fair. 'Cept he kept comin' at me. So I only had t'defend myself, I did. Boy don't know when t'stop." "Don't believe you," says K'del, putting that straight out there, no beating around the bush. "Who was it, Taikrin? This kid. Got to be a reason why he-- what, threw water at you? Spouted crap? Wa-- was it /Sho/?" The thought seems to have only just occurred to him, and his gaze narrows further. He looks annoyed, and sets his glass back down on the table. K'del's realization is actually pretty startling to Taikrin. "Well-- yeah, didn't they say? Guess maybe they couldn't-- or, uh, didn't know him." She's not about to volunteer that maybe they couldn't /recognize/ him past the swelling and blood. "Dumb kid's got some kind of bug up his ass." Her arms make it halfway to crossing over her chest before she catches her self and rests on deliberately on her hip instead. "He just kept /comin'/. I ain't never seen a kid so hot t'be beat." K'del's dubiousness at the veracity of this remains distinctly visible in his expression. "You convinced him to jump in the icy lake," he points out. "And I'm not saying that he wasn't a bloody idiot for actually /doing/ it, but shells, Taikrin. /Shells/." It looks as though he'd like to say worse, but-- restraint! It's more leader-y, or something, apparently. "Frankly, don't especially care whether he kept coming or not. You're a trained fighter, from the sounds of it you near killed him, and that's /not/ appropriate, whatever you think. You going to do that to anyone who pisses you off, ever?" "I did not!" Affronted, Taikrin protests vehemently, "He's still got all his bits attached, ain't got no holes in him, an' probably he can still screw a girl if he ever could, before. Near killed him, nothin'! If I wanted t'kill him, he'd be dead. Maybe next time he'll think a'fore attackin' someone, an' won't get himself killed." From the surety in her expression, she probably expected praise for her admirable constraint, instead of condemnation. "Someone comes at me, I ain't gonna take it lyin' down. Ain't nobody's punchin' bag. This time it's water, maybe next time he decides he's gonna try t'knife me. Shardin' sure he's gonna think twice, instead. I didn't make him do nothin', gave him plenty of outs. I ain't his momma, I'm not gonna baby 'im." I, I, I -- getting a little defensive, perhaps. "/You're/ supposed to know better." K'del has obviously rethought this a little, in retrospect, now. This is what trusting convicts gets you! Bloodied teenagers. "Supposed to have /learnt/ something, this past turn. People don't beat people like that. Not here. Not /us/." He thumps his hand on the table, as if this makes his point stand up better; he's beginning to look kind of pissed off. "Sho is not going to knife you. No one is going to /knife/ you. You think this kind of thing makes me want to let you out of the weyr at all? What happens if it's Lord Crom who pisses you off next? Or /any/ holder, for that matter." "He came /at/ me, an' I made him stop. Didn't /want/ t'have t'put him down, but I /ain't/ gonna stand there an' let him take potshots at me, neither." There's a flush creeping up into Taikrin's cheeks, tbough she's struggling mightily to keep her tone reasonable. "Lord Crom decides he wants t'take a swing at me, reckon I ain't gonna let /him/, either. Learnt plenty, last turn. Learned I /don't/ gotta let people give me crap 'cause maybe I done a few bad things a long time ago. Before. Thought you people weren't gonna hold that stuff." Definitely getting defensive, now. "What was I supposed t'do, stand there an' let him hit me? S'only okay so long as we're both beat up together?" Now, K'del is beginning to get frustrated. "Shells, Taikrin. Don't give a flying fuck whether it's you who was beating someone up in the living caverns, or someone born and bred here and never in a moment's trouble their whole life. Either way: I. Won't. Have. It. Not to some kid, not to Lord Crom himself. We don't do that. We're /better/ than that. You deal with your problems without violence, or, by shells, I'll bust you back down to weyrling before you can say 'I'm innocent'." His voice gets steadily louder, over the course of that monologue; by the end, he's breathless, and looking /pissed/. Taikrin's jaw clamps shut against whatever else might have spewed out -- her rising frustration is obvious in the full flush spread across her face. Finally, though it's somewhat strangled, "So I /am/ s'pposed t'stand there an' let him beat on me? Or maybe run away an' hide? Or maybe get on my knees an' beg him, please sir, won't you be nice?" That last bit might not have been wise, and she knows it: dark gaze cuts away, focusing on the wall while she sucks in a breath. When she continues, her voice is modulated lower, softer. "Yeah, so-- maybe it weren't so nice or whatever, teasin' him. But it was just words. Don't mean nothin'. Don't give no call..." Eyes don't really 'flash', as it were, but K'del's whole expression shows a distinct flush of anger at that particularly unwise sentiment of Taikrin's. Perhaps it's a sign that he is, finally, beginning to grow up that he doesn't jump into the gap, there, to yell; instead, he waits, listening to the rest of what she has to say before he even thinks to open his mouth. By which point, thankfully, he, too, has calmed down a little. A /little/. "Didn't say that. He was an idiot. But if you hadn't worked out that he was taking it all personally, and liable to hold it against you? You were more of one. All I want-- /proportional response/. Be the better person. You ever want to make something more of yourself? Got to learn that." Unlike K'del, who just let circumstance make something of himself, lucky him! "Yeah, well, I never really paid much attention t'him, before today. Just Silarra's dumb boy friend. Didn't think he was gonna do-- well, anything. Didn't even know he went into the lake 'till like yesterday, when we was talkin' about it in th'wing meeting an' someone mentioned that fool boy what almost got himself drowned and--" Taikrin gives a half-hearted shrug, even as she's still studying that wall for all she's worth. "-- and it /was/--!" Jaw clamps down again on her protest, and instead she grounds out, "Yes, sir." Her expression might be meant to be meek, despite the fact that she looks like she's chewing nails. Bypassing Taikrin's explanations, K'del's expression is kind of impassive throughout, though his eyebrows raise again - distinctly - at her protest. "No," he tells her, plainly, voice even. "It wasn't." It's the kind of tone that brooks no argument, and nor does he leave any time for there to /be/ argument, unless you she backtracks after the rest of what he has to say. Placing both hands flat upon the table, he tips his head forward. "Know you don't agree with me on this, but do appreciate that at least you're making the effort to indicate you know my judgment rules. Way it works in a weyr, after all. /So/. You're going to be on best behaviour, in weyr and out. You're going to avoid /any/ kind of trouble. And if you don't... reckon between us, F'rint and I'll come up with something suitable. Want you on /our/ side Taikrin. Want you to be an asset. So. Keep your fists flat." Taikrin looks at K'del, because in this sort of situation it's what's expected of one being punished, except she doesn't look at /him/ so much as just past his ear. "Yes, sir," she repeats in another chewing-nails sort of way. "Sure you will. Sir." Swallowing her temper is hard and painful and she's only managing it by a hair, but she is managing. More or less. "Flat. Yes sir." The way K'del smiles? It's as though he's completely failed to miss what Taikrin is working so hard not to explode with. Like he thinks he's got his point across, made everything understood and happy. So... he's a moron. "Good," he says, almost actually pleased. "Glad we understand each other, then. No more of this, and we'll all be happy. Thanks, Taikrin. You can go. Just... stay away from Sho, mmm? For everyone's sakes." "Yes, sir," It's becoming rote now, this act of agreeing with whatever K'del says. The words aren't exactly pronounced any nicer, but they are coming... faster. Which surely counts for something! "Don't plan on gettin' within a dragonlength of him." Which probably has more to do with the potential for murder than any order of K'del's, but... it counts! "Thank you. Sir." And she even manages some semblance of a stiff-armed salute before turning on one heel to head out towards the bowl. K'del snaps a sharp salute in response to Taikrin, head inclining forward formally. His formality fades away as the brownrider turns to go; by expressions, he really is quite satisfied with how this whole thing went. Excellent. And Taikrin? Probably going somewhere to get violently drunk, since she can't be simply drunkenly violent. There'll likely be some /very/ strange noises coming from that weyr of hers tonight. |
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