Logs:Insubordination Is Easy
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| RL Date: 13 December, 2013 |
| Who: L'sha, Rillaeth, A'rist, Lythronath, G'laer, Teisyth, Klohi, Quinzeth, D'kan, Kazavoth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: New weyrling Wingleader L'sha finds out just how hard it is to reign in the rest of his class. Bee-in-his-bonnet D'kan delivers the weyrlings' mail. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 7, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions |
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| Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr Tucked off the back of the training room, the barracks are a huge, high cavern that stretches far back into the stone of the Weyr. Both of the longer walls are lined with couches for the dragons, enough for a couple of Pass-sized clutches at once, each matched with a cot and press for the weyrling dragonrider. In this day and age, however, the couches in the back have been allowed to grow dusty with long disuse. Hearths are spaced between every few couches to heat the big room. For decoration, there are a number of tapestries on the walls, looking almost as beat-up as the couches out in the training room, but scattered flower pots with their bright blooming contents provide a cheery touch. Additionally, some of the couches have had graffiti scratched into them over the Turns that were never quite cleaned off: smears of chalk messages or even rough pictures, some not fit for young eyes. In many cases names and dates have been painstakingly carved into the rock, a record of those that once made their home here.
It's been a full day. Lythronath's hunt was a successful one, and A'rist spent some of his lunch dealing with the blood drops that came in from that piece of carcass that the bronze brought back to his territory. So sure, the trail is cleaned, but the couch a two down from that Nabolese kid's? Freshly red, still a little wet. And the bronze? Asleep, with a bump of a belly showing just how well he ate earlier today. A'rist, anyway, doesn't seem worried. Teisyth is in the middle of something. Inspection or no inspection, she's moving around the pillows in her couch. It looks like she's just making a mess. G'laer seems unconcerned, however, stretched as he is on his cot, glasses on his face and book in hand. His gaze shifts briefly when a pillow flies through the air and plops into the wide walkway of the barracks. Thump. Even this he seems unconcerned about. Oh, was that today? A bit of dirt is bad enough, but it's easier to get rid of than a whole weyrling. Klohi is draped across her cot, which was made at one point, having rumpled the sheets with the natural shift of her weight as she flips through a book. She looks far less studious than G'laer, with his glasses, idly chewing on some flavored sap and flipping through the (out-of-date) weaver's catalog. Quinzeth is behaving for once, too busy preening her sharp little claws to get up to much mischief-- other than the cheerful, not-quite-in-tune humming that's loud enough for her siblings to hear. L'sha sighs as he finds dirty laundry stuffed under a weyrling's cot for the second inspection in a row. "Do you have some kind of aversion to doing laundry or something? Off you go, take it down to the caverns." The boy gathers his dirty clothes and heads out of the barracks, grumbling under his breath. L'sha makes some marks on his slate and gets to Klohi's couch. He clears his throat a bit louder than necessary to get her attention. A'rist is watching L'sha's progress with far more interest than he gives to P'kavi's. Watching with eyes narrowed. Watching carefully. But when L'sha gets to Klohi, it's Quinzeth who gets his attention. He's careful not to step forward into the drying blood marking out his and Lythronath's part of the barracks, but he does tilt his head. And check on his dragon. A glance to see how far he and Lythronath are from this inspection of L'sha's finds him hesitating on G'laer too. Reading. While he's standing, waiting. A'rist frowns. The clearing of the weyrling wingleader's throat has G'laer's eyes pulling from his book to where L'sha stands and Klohi sprawls, and then it drifts across the row to where A'rist's space is, his gaze meeting with the bronzerider's for a moment. If his face were more expressive, maybe there would be a message there. As is, his eyes move on, this time to Teisyth because she stomps, frustrated. Something's not going right and she climbs out of the couch and sways her way over to get the pillow from the aisle which gets tossed, this time landing next to G'laer's cot and he raises a brow. She huffs, and then turns away when he looks back to his book. There's got to be something more interesting here. She sniffs. Clickclick, Quinzeth's jaws carefully groom where glittering talon contrasts with her dark forelimb, eyes whirling a content blue. Occasionally, Klohi's lips give a quiet smack as she mechanically chews the sap, eerily synched with her lifemate's own noises. L'sha is ignored, at first. Only when the green lifts her head to stare at him, does the weyrling toss an apathetic glance over her shoulder. Lying on her stomach, feet in the air, she moves them aside to toss out an annoyed, "What?" Chewsmack. Flying pillows instantly grab Quinzeth's attention, and she manages not to tangle too-long limbs in a flounce in Teisyth's direction, « Make it rain feathers! » Again. L'sha just looks at Klohi for a moment, then motions with his slate. "Uh, inspection? Straighten up your cot, please." He shakes his head and walks around her couch area, nodding to himself. Rillaeth peers at Klohi from her own couch, not liking her tone with her lifemate. « Oh no you don't, » she directs toward Quinzeth. Something out there makes Lythronath stir, stretching out his legs and twitch his wings, and make a little wuffling sound before he settles back down. A'rist looks from him, to the pillow on the floor, and then in the general direction of Rhey's couch. The way he's scanning the floor, he might be looking for any remaining feathers from that first fateful day. They still turn up now and then. Another glance to G'laer, and he's stepping back from the edge of the blood-paint, and going to sit on the edge of his cot. Creak. Rain feathers. Teisyth might like that. « Where do feathers live? » She wasn't here and hasn't sorted that for herself, so she asks her sister, the one encouraging it. In the meantime though, there's a smell... It's interesting. It's making her mouth water even. G'laer doesn't seem mindful of what his lifemate is doing as she moves toward Lythronath's couch, his eyes instead on the exchange between Klohi and L'sha. Teisyth inches closer, slowing as she gets closer and closer, her tongue lolling out... and dripping saliva on the floor. Klohi has already turned back to the sketches of clothing designs by the time L'sha gives her that look. She might be able to feel his eyes on her, but the real question is... does she care? "Can't be." The weyrling murmurs around her mouthful, flicking her wrist and limply throwing her hand back, "We already did that yesterday." So clearly L'sha is mistaken, never mind that it's several months into weyrlinghood and she knows better. Quinzeth has to stop and cock her head at Teisyth's question, « Come to think of it... on wherries! We should get one and bring it in already! » Rillaeth's command is met with open amusement, « Not me! Teisyth is gonna. » Duh. "Yes, well, the thing about inspections is that they happen again. So hop to it." He finishes his inspection of the rest of the couch. "The good news is that the rest of it looks good, so just straighten that up and you'll be OK." He checks a few things off on the slate and eyes Teisyth as she drools on his nice clean floor. A'rist has noticed Teisyth's approach, and started eyeing her too. But his is not the look of a boy mystified by the antics of a man's green dragon. His is a look of recognition. "Before it's even dry, huh?" Lythronath twitches a little bit more, and heaves a rancid-meat-smelling sigh. At least it came out the front end. Is it possible that G'laer's eyes just rolled? Maybe it's at Teisyth, but the possible eyerolling seems to be curiously timed on the heels of L'sha's verbal assessment. But maybe it's Klohi that the eyeroll is for. So many possibilities, if it even really happened. Teisyth doesn't seem to notice L'sha's eyes on her. She's focused. « Mm. A wherry would be nice. » Slurp. Her tongue flicks across the blood on Lythronath's couch. « But this is herdbeast. It's nice too. » G'laer calls to A'rist as he sets his book aside, "She says it tastes better that way. But the dried stuff is good too." That exhale of, "Mmhmmm..." doesn't sound terribly convincing, especially when paired with Klohi's lifted brows. She'll get right on that. Licking her thumb, she gives a noisy flick of the page, making an otherwise silent point of her unaltered state. Quinzeth's eyes glitter once she realizes where Teisyth is headed, her entire body giving a shimmy of excitement before she follows. « Oh yeah? » She's so interested. Tell her more! « Maybe Lythronath got some on his'self? We should be good neighbors and clean 'im up! » Though she's made the suggestion, the green is only toeing that fresh line of blood. L'sha sighs exasperatedly. "Now, please?" He moves on to G'laer's couch, not having time to waste on Klohi. "Say, G'laer, you were in the guard," he says, loudly, "what was the penalty for insubordination?" He continues his inspection of the other greenrider's couch, eyeing the state of Teisyth's couch. "Fresher," A'rist considers, scooching a bit farther forward, right to the edge of his cot, and watching Teisyth's... cleaning. Snacking. Thing. Quinzeth's approach doesn't go unnoticed, either. And Lythronath's teeth click in his sleep, as he slowly becomes surrounded by greens. A'rist is still watching when L'sha raises his voice, and for an unguarded moment, the look on the bronzerider's face is entirely acidic. But he schools himself. And instead goes back to green watching. "Depends on if you mean officially or unofficially." G'laer answers as he swings his legs to the floor. Teisyth's couch is disheveled. She was just rearranging after all, and left half way through. The man bends to pick up the pillow she threw at him and tosses it into the couch. "Officially, the penalties would be things you don't have the authority to assign." The implication being that the weyrlingmasters do. "Unofficially, though, when someone was being a real prat," The guard is watching the younger man, expression serious, "We'd find soap bars and shove them in socks and beat them in their sleep." Beat. "Or if the prat was really intolerable, you know, too high on their runner, so to speak, you'd take their tags, make them swallow them down and pull them back up by the chain." He looks and sounds entirely serious. Could it be true? Maybe it explains G'laer just a bit. « He might bite you fer tryin', » Teisyth's warning is gentle, but she sounds fairly sure. « But I'm pretty sure these here leftovers are fair game. S'kinda like that-- what's that stuff Klohi is chewin' on? Like a treat. » A special treat. Courtesy of Lythronath. Sigh. Sadly, not all of her siblings are as easy to dupe as Lythronath. For now, Quinzeth admits defeat with a bright and cheery, « Yanno, you're smarter than you look! » She has little interest in sampling the bronze's treats, thank you very much, and goes back to preening her other paw as she watches Teisyth. "Yeah," Klohi follows L'sha's example and raises her voice, though she doesn't aim the drawl at him, "What're you gonna do? Spank me?" Snort. Chewpop. Her furious chewing does begin to slow, however, as G'laer goes on to explain how the guard takes it upon themselves to punish each other. "That is so sick!" She squeals in disgust, "No wonder you act like that all the time. I would too if I had to deal with psychos every day." Which may be the nicest thing she's said about the weyrling class to date. L'sha pales a bit himself at G'laer's story, but regains his composure and smiles sweetly at Klohi. "Well, I guess it's a good thing we're not in the guard. And a spanking is just what you need, but I guess we can settle for an extra lap tomorrow morning." He makes a few check marks on his slate as G'laer straightens up his bunk. As he sees D'kan enter the barracks, he salutes and calls out, "Rider on deck!" P'kavi and L'sha (wingsecond and wingleader, respectively, for this month) are carrying out a sort of bunk inspection. Most people are in or near their couches, some actually hurrying to clean up their bunks, others... well. When L'sha talks spanking, though... A'rist turns from watching Teisyth lick the blood with which Lythronath has painted the outskirts of his couch only a short while earlier. "You can't just say that sort of thing to her," is loud enough to project, though he's managing to keep most of an ire that's been latent since a certain incident at the lake out of his voice when addressing the greenrider. He's getting up off his cot, but comes to a stop when D'kan's entrance is announced, turning toward the entrance, and straightening up. D'kan walks in from the training cavern, followed closely by a lurking shadow. Said shadow is kept at bay, however, as the rider mentally forbids Kazavoth from following him all the way into the barracks. Instead, just his speckled brown snout appears, and one big, whirling eye. Not that it stops the brown from projecting his mindvoice allll over the younger dragons. And humans. And really anyone within shouting distance. It's just his thing. « Ooooh, you are all still so tiny. And such adorable couches. They do not look comfortable, are they comfortable? How do you sleep? I was never that small. » He would go on, if not for a mental slam from his rider, which leaves D'kan with a weary sort of look on his face. "Mail call," he calls out, projecting his own voice without the help of a telepathic link. "Is there a Hasell here?" he asks, dark eyes scanning the faces present while he holds up a rolled and capped piece of parchment. Inspections? D'kan has no time to wait. His stomach rumbles. Some dragons would be offended. There's a moment of silence in which maybe Teisyth-- who are we kidding. Teisyth's bright reply chirps a moment later, « Thanks! » If there was insult in the compliment, she missed it entirely. G'laer watches L'sha pale and regain himself. There's no visible reaction, but it decidedly is observed. Let it not be said that G'laer lets Klohi off easy, "Don't you?" Deal with psychos every day. He very purposefully lets his lips slip into an over-wide smile, showing his straight white teeth, and giving her a look that's downright maniacal, if short-lived. Short-lived because then it's gone with no sign it was ever there. With the one pillow rejoined with its scattered brethren, G'laer's not doing any other tidying. His eyes then flick to A'rist, watching the young man as he raises his voice. Teisyth gets distracted from the licking she's doing of Lythronath's blood-stained couch, because, visitors! To Kazavoth, her brightly exuberant greeting comes, « Howdy! » G'laer moves out of his area and past L'sha to approach D'kan, saluting once he's there. "She's still in the Living Cavern, sir, but I can see that she gets it." It's not worth batting an eye over, really, Hasell, while not as old as G'laer is the other older weyrling in this bunch. Logical that the adults would help each other out. L'sha relaxes after D'kan calls out mail call, glancing over at A'rist as he raises his voice. His gaze drops to his shoes, seeming very guilty about something. He nods as G'laer finishes tidying, then makes a mark on his slate and steels himself before heading to Lythronath's couch. Rillaeth perks up and preens as Kazavoth pokes his head in, crooning a greeting to the brown. Klohi eyes widen at that-- G'laer didn't just smile, did he? And with such intent. "Ugh! And I thought you were creepy before." Despite the snark, she's unnerved enough that her words lack their usual bite. She does, however, manage to follow A'rist's proclamation with a drawling, "Yeaaaaah." L'sha can't talk to her that way. So there. Still, she's not so eager to go back to looking at pretty dresses now. Quinzeth's excitement matches Teisyth, though there's a crackling undercurrent of trouble and the possibility of getting into it with Kazavoth. Rapidfire, « We'll get bigger! Lythronath's ain't that cute. They're alright! With my eyes closed, doy! And I bet you were! » The ratta-tat-tat eventually runs out of ammo. Thanks D'kan. « Big. » From Lythronath, who still at least seems to be asleep, despite all the yelling, and the big brown at the door. Maybe he's even fallen into a deeper sleep, and that word was a one-off. That could be why he's stopped making those drowsy twitches and stretches. When A'rist sees L'sha on his way over, he tries, he really does, to relax his shoulders, and stretches his neck one way and another, getting a crack from one side. A glance to the hole left by Teisyth's tongue in Lythronath's blood line gets a smirk, but he manages to wipe that away, too, before L'sha gets to his doorstep. "Sorry, kid," D'kan says in an easy drawl as he politely smiles to G'laer and puts the rolled parchment back in his satchel, "but I don't know you. She can wait." Adults? D'kan sees only weyrlings. And... blood. On a couch. There would be something of a scowl just then if he didn't stop to rub the back of one hand against his chin, where the skin is still a little raw from recently flying. He gives L'sha and his slate a glance, the moves on to the next item in his satchel, which turns out to be a shallow box. He takes a look a the name, then looks up. "Klohi? Something from Ista." At least he doesn't shake the package. That would be rude. There is also a folded envelope, addressed to shouted out, "G'laer? Is there a G'laer?" A creepy sort of purr comes from where Kazavoth is hulking, trying to look into the barracks. « At least one with spark! » he comments in reply to Quinzeth, again loudly enough for humans to hear without dragons as a go-between. Flashes of brilliant purple accompany the brown's words, plus a heady scent of mulled wine. With a backward glance from D'kan, the dragon's voice is scaled back. Dragons only. Right. Manners. « Big, » he echoes Lythronath in a clear tone of, Didn't I just say that? If G'laer is pleased by Klohi's reaction, no one would know it. The smile is gooone. A single brown brow arches at the use of kid by the brownrider, but G'laer's been called worse. "Just trying to save you a trip, sir." He responds, as polite as D'kan's smile. He'd just started to turn back toward his space, when he hears his name shouted by the brownrider. So he turns back. "G'laer," he points to himself and extends a hand for the letter. Teisyth hiccups. « You smell funny. » She tells the big brown before pressing her nose into the bloody end of Lythronath's couch. Herdbeast blood, that's better. L'sha wrinkles his nose at the blood as well as he gets to Lythronath's couch, peering at the huge bronze and hoping he's asleep. He keeps his distance and turns to A'rist. "Well, I know he's just going to get it messy again, but do you think you can do something about the blood? You don't have to do it now with him in it, just do what you can when he's out of the barracks." He glances down at the bronze weyrling's injured leg, guilt passing over his face briefly. "How's your leg doing? Feeling any better?" Being murdered in her sleep by her psychotic weyrling classmate? Who has time to worry about that when there's a package for her! Klohi hops out of bed with more energy than thought capable, "Oh! Me! Me me me!" She'll hop the rest of the way to D'kan, wild curls thrashing in the air as the weyrling bounces on her feet, arms outstretched. "Gimme!" Is Kazavoth's purr as creepy as the nightmares that lurk in Quinzeth's bittersweet mindscape? They stir as disjointed organ music cues up, a soundtrack to the green's excitement. « He does smell funny! » She agrees with her sister, but rather than shy from it, Quinzeth is gathering the purple scent up in a fog. Klohi stops bouncing suddenly, wrinkling her nose past D'kan and towards the noisy brown, "Oh, weird. As if one voice isn't bad enough." Hands are still outstretched. « Big, » Lythronath repeats, with the emphasis particular to when he's been misunderstood (for some reason). He stretches out his front paws, talons splayed, and heaves a heavy sigh right at Teisyth. A'rist looks to where that green has returned, then to the rest of the bloodied-up couch, and then to L'sha. It's the bronzerider's turn to heave a sigh. "Bloodying up his couch is harmless," is purposefully, forcefully patient, if not exactly deferent. "He needs space that's his." A long look to L'sha dares contradiction. "It's fine," is an afterthought, though he shifts his weight self-consciously. D'kan slaps the envelope into G'laer's hand, followed by, "Crom, huh? The Turns aren't very kind to folk from there, are they." Yes, he knows. Who hasn't heard at this point? But there's a bee in D'kan's bonnet, and it's called playing postman for weyrlings when he hasn't had anything to eat in ages. « And you smell like herdbeast that has been dead too long, dear, » Kazavoth replies to Teisyth and Quinzeth. He's the reason this brown pair isn't on the AWLM roster. "Bit of a micromanager, aren't you?" he calls over to L'sha, all grumpy-faced as he shoves the Istan package toward Klohi. Okay, maybe D'kan also just wouldn't make a good AWLM. There is a last delivery for a weyrling D'kan actually recognizes (perhaps from the main Hold?), then he's closing his satchel and mentally pushing Kazavoth out of the way. He gives A'rist and that leg a glance, then remembers to give a polite smile to the group in general. No salutes. He just leaves. Maybe there's still bread left in the kitchens. « Sleep well, » instructs Kazavoth, sounding amused. « Get big and strong, and then maybe you will all be interesting. » « Oh, no, that's Lynner's couch. He likes to paint it. » Although it's certainly true that Teisyth's breath has acquired that same aroma. « An' it ain't been dead too long. Just is a different flavor, is all. » To the bronze in question, « Yeah, I know. » What she knows that the rest seem to be missing though, she doesn't explain, just offers Lythronath her sympathy for being misunderstood. "Depends on the folk," is G'laer's return to D'kan, not rising to any bait. "Thank you." He does add politely before turning back toward his space, opening it as he goes. L'sha nods. "I understand, but all the same, see what you can do about it." He looks up at D'kan's criticism and reddens a bit, then looks down at his shoes again. He takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "I'm probably making a big no-no here as a leader, but I have to get it off my chest. I...want to apologize about the lake. I should've kept Rillaeth closer and stopped her from taunting Lythronath. There's no excuse for that. I'm so sorry." Klohi eagerly snatches the package as it's shoved over, tearing into it on her way back to her cot. After the silent inspection, a happy squeal leaves her throat, "Will you look at this blouse? Oh! And Daddy sent me some of my things..." She rifles through the fine bits of clothing (for a fisherman's salary) and beauty products, ignoring the rest of the class as she rifles through the care package. Quinzeth is naturally curious, and while Klohi reads her father's scrawled handwriting, the green is shoving her muzzle into the box. It's a safe bet that unless one of the WLMs demands it of her, the girl's cot will stay as-is until she finally tucks in for the night. A'rist's jaw tightens a little bit, and he forces his shoulders back. "No, you don't understand. I already took away the bits of herdbeast that were leftover. That's the most I intend to do about this. The more I clean, the more he's going to drag in and get everywhere else. So this is what you get." That gesture, of course, takes in Teisyth. A'rist can't quite stop his eyes from rolling when L'sha mentions the lake. "Look, Lythronath was out of control too, so just forget about it," doesn't quite sound like open forgiveness so much as a desire to wash his hands of the situation. « Big, » Lythronath answers back to Kazavoth's wake. « Strong, » added as he flexes his talons again, and opens his eyes. Teisyth is the least of vermin Lythronath's habits could attract. But she is part of the package. There's agreement from Teisyth to the bronze before she's freezing. Why? Well, behind her G'laer has done the same. And anger blazes across his face. Not everyone's mail call gets to be as delightful as Klohi's apparently. Without a word, he turns and storms out of the barracks, Teisyth scampering behind him, « Wait up, G'laer! » She calls within public range, but so swiftly they're both just gone. And they're not coming back before dawn. So much for curfew and rules. L'sha raises a hand to his temples and shakes his head. "Faranth, I'm doing everything wrong. Some leader I am." He sighs again. "That's fine, then, just straighten up a bit and that'll be good. Look after your leg, we'll be flying soon and you don't want to miss that, do you?" He puts on a smile, but it doesn't last. His inspection complete, he heads to the weyrlingmaster's office to give his report. A'rist has been trying this month, he really has. But being asked to 'straighten up' when his area is neat and tidy except for massive blood smears (that have already been adressed)? So he just stares at L'sha in silence until the greenrider has left his gory doorstep, and then looks blankly to Lythronath. The bronze isn't looking back, though. Another stretch, he's up, and he's headed for that pillow. He'll find it. It was here, he knows it. |
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