Logs:Punching People Is Important Business
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| RL Date: 22 October, 2012 |
| Who: Taikrin, Quinlys, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Azaylia is summoned by Taikrin, and there's a lot of talk about punching people along with a bluerider with a case of the blues. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Meara/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, Brieli/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. Abrupt, straightforward, and loud as a trainwreck: that's Szadath. « Hey! Taikrin is looking for yours. Wing business. » Accompanying the terse message is a picture of the Snowasis bar, likely from Taikrin's point of view, along with a single curl of acrid smoke. (Szadath to Hraedhyth) Black smoke twines with Szadath's with a trail leading down to her flames which flair with familiarity. There are scents carried on the dark puffs, musky and floral, « Mine is in the bath. » Drums thunder on, a wall of noise to conserve her rider's privacy. « She will be there, after she is done. » The smoke is blown away with a curt huff, message recieved. (Hraedhyth to Szadath) The interest that gusts cold through and around Hraedhyth's smoke is pure Szadath-- the harmless little tendril that seeks after that revelation about the bath, Taikrin. « Good. We wait. » (Szadath to Hraedhyth) It's not snowing, but only just; the only difference that makes to Taikrin, really, is that she's more dry rather than less as she perches in her customary place at the bar. She's sipping idly at a half-full glass of whisky, but her attention appears to be more focused out at the cavern at large, rather than chatting with the patient bartenders. Both her stool and the one on the other side have been taken over so that she can spread comfortably out, back against the countertop, and wait. Quinlys has been in here for a while, now, though she's been keeping unusually to herself in one of the booths off in a far corner. Now, however, the bluerider's got her empty glass in hand as she teeters - just a little bit - towards the bar, and the promise of refills. Hunched forward, she seems morose and unhappy, and pays no attention whatsoever to anyone else; not even Taikrin, whose stools are so close to where she draws up to a halt. "Whisky," is her instruction to the bartender. "A double." "Punching's just as good as whisky, you know," Taikrin notes idly to Quinlys as her lips twist into a wry grin. "Punching with whisky's even better. Always perks me right up." Though the brownrider still has one eye on the cavern, she turns just enough towards Quinlys to express her interest in Riorde's clutchmate. "Reckon I can come up with a couple of good volunteers if you ain't got a specific one in mind." Azaylia arrives with a freshly scrubbed face and stringy hair clinging to it, certainly looking refreshed. The dress she wears is simple but warm, perfect for winter and casual enough for a trip down to the Snowasis. She drifts for a step or two towards the bar, moving with far more purpose once she spots a particular brownrider. "Taikrin." Soft voice greets once she's close enough to be heard, soon catching sight of Quinlys as well. "Oh, Weyrl- uhm, Quinlys." An embarrassed though happy smile, not yet realizing the bluerider's mood. "If I start punching people at random, I'll never be taken seriously," retorts Quinlys, though at least she's distracting herself from her own thoughts enough to give the brownrider a glance-- and Azaylia too, a moment later. Neither glance is especially warm, and nor does she seem especially inclined towards conversation: besides, there's that whisky being slid towards her, all the ready to be thrown back in a single gulp. She slams the empty glass down on the bar, looking disgruntled. No doubt public drunkenness will do equally well for her reputation as someone to be taken seriously. Perhaps it's Azaylia that Taikrin was waiting for, since as soon as she spots the Glacier rider, she's beckoning her over. "Being taken seriously is sort of overrated, is what I think," she drawls back to Quinlys. Either she's not noticed the bluerider's reluctance, or more likely she doesn't care-- probably the latter, given how she raises her own glass in salute. "To serious business, yeah?" Her crooked grin includes Azaylia in both her gesture and commentary. "Punching random people?" Azaylia's usual reluctance to be nosy is overridden by her concern for Quinlys. She sounds surprised as well as worried, hopeful that a wide-eyed look to Taikrin may give her some answers. Hands wringing in front of her, "Serious business... Oh, Szadath mentioned Wing buisness?" Not suspicious, but careful- as if that's the cause for the bluerider's demeanor. The passing 'tender is hailed with a polite finger, ordering something warm, chocolatey, and alcoholic. Totally what a Glacier rider should be seen drinking, especially when she makes it a point to request a whipped topping. "Your wingmate seems to think it'll help," says Quinlys, derisive. At least she hasn't tried to order anything else - if, indeed, the bartender would actually serve her at this point. "I just... I can't believe it. I thought it was all settled, but noooooooo, she wants to bring someone else in." If she expects any of this to make sense to anyone else, she's got to be sorely mistaken. "Maybe you should take your oh-so-special Glacier business and leave me alone to drink my sorrows away." "Yeah, actually-- that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Azaylia." There's a sing-song quality to the way Taikrin says the goldrider's name that implies there might be a tease. "Punching people. It's important Glacier business." A sidelong look and almost-wink, and then she's tilting her head towards Quinlys. "Glacier business is important," she adds slowly, in an outrageous flirt. "But so are pretty girls having distress and sorrows." Azaylia's mouth becomes a little 'o', though no sound leaves her scrunched lips as she gains some understanding of the situation. "Quinlys?" The concern is certainly glopped on with sugary sweetness that would be obnoxious if it weren't so genuine. Perhaps that makes it even more disgusting, "What's wrong?" When she's snapped at, it's enough to have her taking a meek step back unconciously closer to Taikrin. "W-why?" Her head is slow to turn, but she ends up looking to her wingmate, "I mean, what does punching have to do with Glacier business?" More importantly, "Or me?" Quinlys shoves her hands into her pockets, miserably. Such good company she is tonight! "Meara's in talks to have some experienced assistant weyrlingmaster from Telgar come in to help her. Probably to take over." The admission is said with glum flatness, all the fight taken out of her; most of the rest of the conversation, including Taikrin's flirtation, seems to be going straight over her head. "Maybe I do want to punch her. Both of them." So much for flirtation-- talking about punching Meara has Taikrin drawing back in horror. "You can't-- she's Weyrlingmaster Meara. She'll kill you!" It would be funny if Taikrin weren't so dead serious-- then again, maybe it's funnier that big mean Taikrin is terrified of a tiny old woman. "Sure she's got some kind of good plan in place." Beat. "Wait, are you saying the Weyrlingmaster is... quitting?" This is a lot more important than punching people, apparently. Azaylia lifts a hand with the intention of rubbing Quinlys' back, hesitating only when the subject of punching refuses to die down. Her arm is just going to... slowly lower. "Oh, but... a little help can't be all that bad?" She manages to keep her horror at bay, letting Taikrin be loud enough for the both of them. "Have you talked to- quitting?" This has the goldrider's head snapping to her wingmate, clearly not having made that connection. Her warm drink arrives, ignored for the moment as she turns to Quinlys, expectant. Quinlys', "She's not that bad," is a sentiment that doesn't linger - not when she's this upset with her boss. "Not immediately." Her gaze shifts from one Glacier rider to the other, then back towards her toes. "But it's obvious. If she's recruiting help from outside, then she's thinking about it. But I thought she was going to train me in some of the administration, this time. She said." The whinging is intense. "So she sucks. Everyone sucks. It's just not fair." "That's-- that's--" Taikrin has been rendered speechless by this news. She looks from Azaylia to Quinlys, completely at a loss... until she shoots down the last of her whisky. With a gasp, she manages, "Well shells. It's like everyone is leaving this place. Now Meara? Bloody shells. You can't take over for Meara. Nobody can take over for Meara." She's not being cruel to Quinlys, but rather bluntly honest. "Shells." Azaylia finally realizes that her drink is cooling, and the whipping is melting, so she ducks in between the two to retrieve it. A sip gives her enough liquid courage, "Weren't we in your first weyrling class?" We, not including Taikrin but the physically absent Hraedhyth. "M-maybe Meara's bringing someone in to continue your training..? If she really is thinking about quitting." The junior does her best to balance sad news with optimism for Quinlys' sake. Quieting herself with another drink, she reaches over to give Taikrin's solid arm a few pats and strokes. There, there. The glance Quinlys aims in Taikrin's direction is poisonous and hurt both. "She's sixty-two turns old," she says, aiming for primly hurt, all very clipped. "Nearly. Don't you think she's allowed a rest, finally?" She is clearly too tangled up in her own upset to properly register what the brownrider is going through with that thought; nor is Azaylia's additions to the conversation properly enough to soothe. "It wasn't going to be immediately. She was going to teach me. But this new one.. he'll want to be in charge, and it's not fair. He should stay at Telgar and worry about their clutches." "N-no," Taikrin manages, startled by Quinlys' vehemence. "Well yes, if she wants to, but-- you don't reckon she's being made to stand down, do you? You said he, do you know what he rides?" Just like that, Taikrin transitions from grief to suspicion as she interrogates Quinlys. "You don't reckon it's the Weyrleader forcing her, do you? He replaced the Weyrwoman, I hear he's trying to replace the Wingleaders what don't agree with him... do you reckon he'd force out Meara, too?" She rounds on Azaylia, terribly intent. "You see him during goldrider stuff, yeah? You reckon he's got a scheme?" Any further attempts to soothe will be sharply interrupted by Taikrin, Azaylia blinking rapidly and snatching her hand away. "Taikrin." The horror from before is far more evident in her voice. Without realizing it, the goldrider stands just a bit taller to put those three extra inches to use, "How could you? K'del would never do- Taikrin." Voice is airy with disbelief, though the brownrider's name is uttered in a heavy scold. "The Weyrleader doesn't scheme." She says with a pouting huff, turning back to Quinlys, "Have you spoken to Meara about how you feel?" "Not everything," says Quinlys, on the edge of anger, "is about the fucking Weyrleader, Taikrin. It's some bluerider, I don't know. That's not the point. None of that is the fucking point." At least Azaylia is winning points, though she does ignore that last question: speak to Meara? Lay herself open like that? Hell no. Instead; "I need another drink." Taikrin is struck dumb again, though this time by first Azaylia's and then Quinlys' dire betrayal. Shocked. Just shocked. "Are you-- are we even talking about the same person?" It's easier to confront Azaylia about this. "Shells, girl, you and me have got to talk." From the look she slants briefly back towards Quinlys, she means 'privately'. Rather than address the bluerider directly, Taikrin instead turns back to flag down the bartender. "Pour us a new one, yeah? Reckon we all need it. Sad days, sad days." At least she's still willing to buy Quinlys a drink. "Not if you're going to say mean things about our Weyrleader." Azaylia stresses, not quite managing to sound particularly haughty. Especially since she's still talking over that pouting lower lip. Despite Taikrin's grave insult toward K'del, she'll do her best to save the older woman's marks, "I haven't finished this one." The sweet, froo froo drink she has cradled in both hands. As for Quinlys, "I think it's best if you talked to her. But, nobody can make you." Certainly not the meek goldrider with a mouthful of yum. Quinlys glowers at Taikrin, mouth set into a deliberate scowl. "I don't want one," she says, as if she didn't decide she did only a few minutes before. "Maybe you should shut up and grow up. How long have you been nursing that little grudge of yours? Pathetic." Azaylia's remark is not one she's ready to hear, it seems, but aside from a lingering glance in the goldrider's direction, she holds her peace. "I need to go hit something. See you." There's a definite teeter in her step as she wobbles towards the exit. Taikrin's spine stiffens, despite her causal lean on the bar, and the smile she directs at the bartender has a lot of teeth. "Just one, then." Her voice remains carefully casual as she addresses Quinlys over her shoulder. "Reckon you should go ahead and do that. See you." The two fingered wave is curt. Before she can even look at Azaylia, though, she has to have a bracing gulp of her new whisky. Then, with a deep breath to force some relaxation into her posture, she asks with a faux-casual smile, "Girl, just how much did they tell you about the goldriders who came before you? And who did the telling?" Azaylia keeps quiet this time, eyes lowered to the rim of her mug as Quinlys is quite unkind to Taikrin. As the bluerider turns to leave she does add in a weak, "Not other people, I hope?" Likely not heard, and not a proper farewell anyway. And so, the junior is left alone with Taikrin. Not truly alone, given the other bodies in the Snowasis and the healthy hustle and bustle of the place. "Harpers, in weyrlinghood." She answers, "Records when I was allowed to help out. Uhm," She was around for a bit of Tiriana's reign. "I saw what happened to K'del's arm." Said with the faintest of frowns on her face. "Got it." It gets a little easier to transition from 'looking relaxed' to 'being relaxed' when Taikrin's had a little more whisky, and a few more breaths to pull herself together now that Quinlys has left. "Just curious, see. I don't much keep track of what they teach you all in weyrlinghood." She even tries out one of her charmingly crooked smiles, though it's relatively weak. "See, you're young, and you got the exact right idea about supporting your elders and the ones what are in charge of you. There's just a lot of history here, you know? Sometimes things ain't always what they look like." All at once she stretches, arms wa-a-ay up over her head. "Ahhhh, but anyways-- I promise, that ain't why I wanted you to come join me tonight, to go on about old history." Azaylia brings the mug up to her lips using both hands, tipping it back to peer over at Taikrin from over the edge. Taikrin's charm manages to have some effect on the junior as she offers up a little smile in return. Far more at ease, "I'm sorry if you... if you don't like the Weyrleader. I shouldn't have gotten upset, just because you think differently." That was upset? Must have been, given her genuine apology, "It's more about the dragons. Things happen for a reason, certain people... we have to trust them." Though there's a too-obvious tilt to her head as the brownrider hints at what she was really summoned for. "Oh?" "You're a sweet girl," Taikrin manages in reply, though to bite back something harsher must cost her. "Always thinking the best of people, working hard-- I worry about you, did you know that?" Kind, elder-brotherly concern-- she's certainly trying for it. "The way you were talking, especially, the other day at the spring? Got me to wondering. Anybody ever teach you how to defend yourself? You know, like if you're stuck somewhere your dragon can't reach, or if a bronzerider's getting all grabby like, or pushy during a flight? Tiriana used to make sure the weyrlings got a little, but since she ain't here..." Azaylia's gaze widens only to scrunch soon after, bashfully clenching her eyes while she tries not to smile too widely. "Thankyou." She'll recover, brown gaze remaining solely on the brownrider as she speaks. "I... We had a bit, during weyrlinghood. I mostly enjoy running and cardio for my excercises, though." Clearly not enough training to realize that it was meant to be self defense rather than another bout of aerobics. "What you're talking about sounds... sounds violent." "Violent? No, no-- nothing violent." Taikrin's got a look as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. All of those scars certainly don't help her case-- nor does the snort and rolled eyes from the bartender as he passes by. "Just, you know. It's a dangerous world, and sometimes some people ain't got your best interests at heart. So the way I see it, I reckon it's my job as your senior wingmate to make sure you can protect yourself proper." She sips idly at her whisky, then leans disarmingly against the bar. "Ain't just you. Been meaning to do this for a bunch of the younger ones we got. What do you think?" Beat. "What does Hraedhyth think?" Azaylia isn't fully convinced but is well on her way, what with Tairkin's reassurance. "W-well... I can't imagine who would want to..." The words fall away as she remembers less than savory times in the weyr, an echo of fear flashing across her face. It's enough to have her draining the mug, placing it on the bar as she recovers, "Hraedhyth knows she'll be able to protect me, no matter what." And mercy to whatever, or whoever tries to get into the gold's way. "But, she wants me to learn. Something about a warrior makes for a good leader..." The words end in an embarrassed trail for her dragon's odd mentality. "There, now, ain't that just like how we were saying? Ain't it weird, how the dragons always seem to know what's best for us?" Taikrin... may be pouring it on a little thick. The bartender certainly seems to think so, though at least he's doing so silently. "It don't have to be all Glacier, neither, if you know some other people what might want to come? Maybe other people from your weyrling class? Been a while, but I taught loads of people-- and I reckon I can grab a couple others who'll help, too, so it ain't all just me." Her crooked grin is in full force. "I'm okay in a scrap, or so they tell me." Taikrin may be laying it on thick, but Azaylia's eating it up, "You're right..." How often does the brownrider get to hear that? "If Hraedhyth thinks it's a good idea, then it probably is. And it's... just in case, right?" Nobody said that she'd ever have to punch someone, ever. Not like Quinlys. Smile is a little hopeful, "I'll mention it to some others... maybe Brieli." No surprise that her thoughts go to the other junior. The longer she talks about it, the easier it is to accept the idea. It might even be... fun! "Hey, no problem. More the merrier." Taikrin leans back in her stool with her cat-and-canary grin, and raises her glass in silent salute. "After sweeps next seven, is what I was thinking. Meet at the Nighthearth, then we can head out into the bowl for a little excercise. And dinner after?" It's all just a friendly gathering of friends. Really. "Just some good fun. Sound alright?" Azaylia raises her mug, realizing it's empty only when she goes to take a drink. After ordering another she turns back to her wingmate, "I'll remember." And if she doesn't, Hraedhyth will. "It sounds like we'll build up an appetite." Which is a yes to dinner, as well. Since they aren't planning on getting down to buisness that night, the goldrider will enjoy several more drinks in the brownrider's company. She might need some help getting home, but an oddly watchful Hraedhyth will take over from there. |
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