Logs:Weyrling Stalking
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 22 November, 2011 |
| Who: Riorde, Taikrin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Riorde and Taikrin meet for a drink. No one dies (but Riorde thinks murderous things about E'gin). |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 4, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'gin/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
  |
| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern. In the last few days since the weyrlings' return to the Weyr, even the dragons bound to former exiles have caught wind of the disgruntlement rippling through the spring air. When Sforzath reaches out to the other brown, there's a tense, alert undercurrent that sweeps up in regular waves. « She, » Riorde, present a sense and a flash of her face, « wants to know if your rider would like to have a drink. There. » The Snowasis, seen from his perspective outside. (Sforzath to Szadath) There's no reply from Szadath, beyond a vague sense that he acknowledged and understood the message. Nevertheless, it doesn't take long for Taikrin to hurry-then-meander into the Snowasis. Despite her attempts at casualness, her hair is faintly damp and she has a fresh-scrubbed look about her. She pauses at the entrace from the lower caverns to scan the crowd, casual-like, with hands shoved into the pockets of her beat up riding jacket. Riorde sits up straight at the end of the bar, hands laced around a mug of something warm with steam curling off the top. The stools to either side are vacant, with most patrons occupying tables or the chairs placed around the hearth rather than the less comfortable seats available at the bar; Riorde's chosen her spot based on visibility rather than comfort. The weyrling's brought something to read with her, so her attention's on that rather than on the entrance, although she looks up every so often. In doing so, she catches sight of Taikrin, and after a slight hesitation, straightens further and lifts a hand to draw attention to herself. Taikrin hesitates too, in that instant when she spots Riorde, but before the weyrling has noticed her. Her figure stills, only to jolt back to life when their gazes meet. Then she's all crooked smiles and easy saunters as she drops lightly onto the stool to Riorde's right. "Hey." Her gaze flickers over the book, but lingers on the mug. "What're you drinkin'?" "Hey." Riorde sounds slightly stilted even in that one word, even though (or maybe because) she makes an effort to sound normal. She drops her gaze as soon as Taikrin's settled next to her and closes her book; from the looks of it, what Ri's got is light reading. "Oh-- I don't know. I asked for something hot, and he made it." She indicates the bartender down the way with a little lift of her chin, then pushes her mug over an inch. "Can try it if you like." "Yeah?" When Taikrin leans over to peer into the cup, she's particularly careful to maintain a good span of distance between their bodies. "Ain't so much into the hot ones he makes." Instead, she leans way over the bar to grab the attention of the bartender with a wave of her hand, and make a gesture that probably means 'the usual', given the answering nod she gets in reply. "Whiskey's good enough for me. So..." She drawls to silence, at a loss, then offers a moment later, "Everythin' alright?" "Oh." Awkward silence; Riorde tries to fill it in but possibly only succeeds highlighting that awkwardness when she says, "Well, I like it." She pulls her mug back by the handle and picks it up to take a small drink. See, proof. She likes it. "Oh. Yeah. I mean, kind of. People are being a bit funny around us because of Elgin." By the time she gets to the name, she's started to sound a little annoyed. "Don't think Polaris likes us much. We're flying with them this week." "Yeah, well, people don't look real kindly on a brown catching a gold, 'specially if it's a real young dragon. Weyrling, even." Taikrin's even avoiding making exile jibes, though it must be hard; at least she's some semblance of her cocky grin back. "Polaris is a bunch of tightwads. Y'all're better off without bein' around that lot too much. You know, kid's got balls. Or luck. 'Least we waited 'till we weren't weyrlings no more!" She's interrupted, then, by the arrival of a glass of whiskey, which she promptly picks up, salutes Riorde with, then sips at. Tamely. "Real balls." Riorde doesn't seem terribly impressed by Taikrin's assessment of her clutchmate and fellow former exile, since she meets the salute with a sour contribution. "Fucking Elgin." She deserts her perfect posture and leans forward over her drink in a slump. "He better not screw it up for the rest of us." Her grumbling is more than that of a sore loser, with apprehension in her regard as she turns her head to look at Taikrin again. "They're not all talking like Polaris, are they?" "Hey, whatever, kid got lucky. He'll either have all the wings after 'im, or none, know what I'm sayin'?" Her amusement at Riorde's reaction is mild -- and a little cocky. "Either way, ought not to reflect on you much at all. Ain't like they talk to me, though. I mean, I hear the gossip, but me an' the Wingleader ain't sharin' secrets, and I sure as shells ain't hearin' stuff from the other wings. We don't-- get on." Taikrin props an elbow on the bar, then rests her head against her balled fist. "Can't imagine why, popular girl like me." "He always gets lucky," complains Riorde, wanting the last word -- or sympathy. "He's always got to be so fucking perfect." A quick, amused smile pops up for how Taikrin references herself. Then, suddenly conscious that her question might have been construed as fishing for information, she's quick to offer a disclaimer. "I was just wondering. Because, you know, the guy I'm shadowing in Polaris keeps making these comments about us. Us exiles. I was just wondering if it was just them." Taikrin shrugs her free shoulder, totally unconcerned -- fishing expedition or not. "Sorry I don't know more t'tell you. Ain't really somethin' that comes up much, around the poker table or when we're drillin' or whatever." But then her gaze fixes on Riorde, intent and measuring behind the crooked smile. "'Cept most of 'em were impressed with you, at least. Not so much most of the babies in your class, but couple of 'em commented on how they liked your, uh. Guts?" It's clearly not the word she originally meant there, but it'll have to do. "Really?" Riorde tries to play it cool, but with the way her smile forms and overshadows all her aggravation, the young brownrider's unmistakably pleased. "Well-- I've probably got you to thank for that." If not for the 'guts', then at least for the introduction and the opportunity to show them off. "Otherwise I'd have just done the shadowing and gone home." This time, when she lifts her drink, she tilts it towards Taikrin. Insufferably pleased, Taikrin raises her own glass to return the salute, then drains it dry. "Glad to help. They're my-- my--" Her lips twist together as she tries to pull up the proper word, then shrugs and offers lamely, "-- crew. Wing. Whatever. Look out for each other, yeah? A good lot, most of 'em. Good to have on your back. Thought you might get on, you know?" While she struggles with words, the legs of her stool tilt back and forth as she rocks her weight around in the most outward display of nervous energy. "How many more rotations you got left, anyways? Feels like your time's goin' so fast." Funny how a situation that ended with thinly veiled insults and strained relations turns into an opportunity for compliment only a short time later. "Right." Riorde has nursed her drink long enough that what's left in the bottom is only lukewarm. She tips it forward in her cup before drinking the last of it. "Uh. There's Taiga, and then the four lower wings. So five, and then we pick two. And then we're done." "Huh. That really ain't all that long at all." Canny, now, though she's trying to hide it behind that smile, Taikrin adds, "Got an idea what you're lookin' for? What you're gonna pick?" Two can play at this fishing game! She taps a finger pointedly against the bar top. "Reckon there might be marks ridin' on it, s'all I'm sayin'. Most of the other babies too, but-- maybe I got a couple extra ridin' here, is all I'm sayin'." Riorde cuts a look across at the other woman, sharp but smiling slightly. The silence before Riorde's response is considering, this time, instead of awkward. "If there's marks," she finally replies in a slow, measured way, "then I suppose it's not really fair if I say anything one way or another." Taikrin makes a gesture of helplessness with her free hand, lapsing back onto her crooked grin. "Can't blame me for tryin', yeah? What's the use of havin' inside information if I ain't gonna use it?" Her gaze cuts across the room, towards where a trio of Glacier riders are huddled together around a table. "Once the pools start gettin' big enough, people'll be stalkin' weyrlings all over the place. Chasin' their greens. Sendin' their greens to tease the boys. All's fair. So," she wheedles, "It ain't really a matter of bein' cheating, if we're all doin' it.." Riorde laughs freely, her head tipping back and her grin remaining as she goes on to say, "Can't just tell like that. That's no fun. Besides," she points out, smile controlled as she puts on a serious air, "there's still five wings left to pick from." Riorde's laughter brings a matching grin of delight to Taikrin's pale features, though maybe there's something wistful in it, too. "So what you're sayin' is that I'm gonna have to work hard to get it out of you, if I want to win my marks. 'Cause, you know," an eyebrow raises pointedly as her voice lowers, "I really do like to win." The weyrling looks at Taikrin steadily with a smile whose character has started to change, mirth no longer the only impetus for it. "Then I guess you'll be working hard." With the gauntlet thrown, Riorde slides off her stool and picks up her book. "Think maybe we should catch up with Quinlys and the others -- better warn 'em that you all are coming after them." And, Riorde opting for the company of her class? Maybe the camping trip did achieve some sort of bonding purpose after all. There's a flash of disappointment, here and gone again as Taikrin smothers it beneath a show of supreme overconfidence. "Yeah yeah, warn 'em all you like. It ain't gonna save 'em from it. And, you know--" She picks up her nearly-empty glass of whiskey and gestures with it in a sort of farewell, "-- y'all might like it. Bein' chased. Just sayin'." Perceptive and paying attention, Riorde stalls behind her stool. It's the overconfidence that she responds to though, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, well, we'll see." There's a healthy dose of skepticism in her voice, then tempered to thoughtfulness -- manufactured, however, to suggest that this is a tease, a goad: "Depends who's doing the chasing." Her smile is quick and bright, tossed over her shoulder as she goes off to in search of the other weyrlings. Chasing. It's been a long time since the brown pair have chased anything; outside, in the bowl, Szadath abruptly rouses from his brooding wallow and wings with single-minded purpose towards the feeding grounds for a meal to drive some of the unhappy gray from his hide. And while Taikrin holds her cocky overconfidence until Riorde turns away, with a laughingly echoed, "We'll see!" she turns thoughtful and, well, a little predatory once the weyrling has left. |
Leave A Comment