Monday, January 28, 2002

 

Main Living Cavern (#551J)

Grey stone arches a vast vault overhead, details of the ceiling all but disappearing in the shadows cast by warm, human-height glowsconces and the night hearth's flames; tapestries texture the smooth walls, looking down upon the raised dais, the expanse of tables, the flagstones left cleared for impromptu dancing.

A single broad archway, its carved pattern worn soft with time and passersby's touch, leads west into the bowl; two more, narrower but just as tall, give access to the bustle of living caverns in the south. Predominant looms the builders' masterpiece: the imposing staircase that twines up along the northern wall, leading to the weyr's huge kitchens.

Vintner Harry busies himself behind the 'bar'; nearby hangs the day's 'menu'.

You see Sinaqui and Veran here.

K'rali is here.

Obvious exits:

Bowl       Lower Caverns       Stairs       Weyr Tunnel

 

K'rill is settled at one of the many tables, forearms resting upon the table as they frame a plate of food -his dinner. With a spork in one hand and the stem of his wine goblet in the other, he chews, and chews, and chews. That' some tough bovine meat.

 

K'rali sags in, weariness etched on her face.  She makes her way straight t the bar and--from either weariness or preoccupation--manages to slam her to against a belligerently planted table leg.  Luckily enough, she's in a deserted part of the cavern--far enough that nobody will hear the bang, o the stream of barely audible curses issuing from her mouth. 

 

K'rill drops his spork into the mushed tubers this time, swirling it about t mix the butter good and well into them. These should be far easier to chew then that roast 'beast. So, its popped into his mouth and gulped down. Yes much easier. So busy feeding his face, he doesn't notice any clumsy food banging or cursing.

 

K'rali notices him, though--in fact, she noticed him from the start, but was too busy thinking bad thoughts at items of furniture.  But now that she's go her drink, /and/ a plate of food, it's straight to her Wingleader's table for her, and a seat right across for him.  She doesn't greet him, just thumps he plate down and glares as she sinks into the chair.

 

K'rill is still enjoying the feel of the mushed tubers as they slide down hi throat. At the solid *thunk* of another body across from him, he grunts in acknowledgement, gaze cast down at his plate. Assuming its just another of his wingriders, naturally. "I'd suggest the stew, 'beast is a little tough."

 

It /is/ just another of her wingriders.  "I'd try it, except my throat is so windburned I can't deal with food away from room temperature,"  K'rali points out with acid lacing her hoarse voice.  As if unaffected by her stormy countenance, a small boy leaps up onto the seat next to her; bluerider takes the time to ruffle his hair and plant a kiss on his cheek before returning to her food.

 

K'rill's gaze lifts to peer across at the one sitting there, pale eyebrows lifting at the sight. "Mmmmmm." He swallows and finds his voice, "Evening, K'rali. Your throat?" Gaze flickers to the little one for a moment, lips curling upwards in a smile for the boy alone, in greeting and  welcome. And then he is shoveling up more mushed tubers.

 

K'rali spreads her own massive pile of mashed tubers around on her plate.  Cools faster that way.  "Drills."  Fork's tines trace swirling arabesques on that malleable surface.  "Drills, drills, drills, drills."  Her tone is accusatory, her eyes fixed on K'rill from beneath long lashes.

 

A very self-satisfied smile slips its way across K'rill's face. "Ah yes. Drills. They build character, strengthen the wing. And the wing can sure use some strengthening." Throat clears for a moment before bronzer takes a long drink from the wine  in his goblet. "Might want to keep a skin of water at your side tomorrow morning?"

 

Stab, stab, stab.  That smile really set the fork a-poking at those mashed tubers.  The little boy watches in fascination.  But K'rali wasn't a harper for nothing--she tones her voice to one more diplomatic.  "Well, I think you might be right," she lies.  "But it certainly is hard on some of the greens, to be doing double-duty in all weathers." 

 

K'rill sloshes the liquid in his goblet idly about as he peers across to her, "The greens, eh? What makes you say that?" Spork is set back down upon the table as he reaches for the skin to get himself some more of the wine. Violent stabbing is isn't given a second glance, let alone a first.

 

With an effort, K'rali smooths out the remains of her tubers.  "Well.  I've noticed some of the smaller dragons lagging behind as the drills progress, you know."  Old habits die hard--she can't keep from keeping a sharp eye out still.  "I think the schedule is a little hard on them."  Sharp tines trace an 'X' into the tubery mass--the Sirocco symbol.

 

"Then maybe they will just have to work harder to keep up with the rest. I set a reasonable pace. More than reasonable actually." K'rill nods his head. "And the schedule is supposed to be hard. On everyone. I don't do this because I'm bored or have some sort of vindictive streak in me. I do it because we need it." He scowls abruptly, wondering why he is explaining himself.

 

K'rali can scowl too.  See?  But it's gone almost as soon as it appears.  "I haven't noticed the other wings drilling in pouring rain--or at noon in Igen."  Without even looking, she deflects Veran's finger as it tracks towards her pile of tubers.

 

K'rill shakes his head from side to side, "No, they don't. But I suppose that says something." He glances down the table and then back to K'rali, nothing that it is just she and the boy which are the only ones there. "I'll be sent between before Sirocco is shown to be the shoddiest and laugh-happy wing of the Weyr under /my/ knot. Anything else?"

 

"Yeah, there is," K'rali tells him bluntly.  "We may be laugh-happy, but you're be knot-happy.  And you'd be a long time in this world if you based your demise on Sirocco flubbing their drills.  And some of us resent being made to repeat drills that we're spot-perfect on."  Veran, who apparently has no sense of self-preservation, has been tugging on her jacket during this entire speech, murmuring, "Mamo?...Mamo?"

 

K'rill blinks across at K'rali, and then blinks again for good measure. "Okay... Okay." Head bobs with exaggeration, causing a lock of his hair to shade over an eye. "We'll play it your way. Lets say... you were wearing my knot. Just, use your imagination... how would /you/ set the wing back to rights? Hrm? Tell me. I'm all ears." And with that, he pushes his plate to the side, folds arms on the table, and just stares at K'rali with the upmost curiosity. Well, except for that flicker to the kidelt. " I believe you are needed?"

 

"No, Veran, either Mom or Mommy," K'rali attempts to instruct.  Veran blinks sweetly up at her and repeats, "Mamo."  With an audible sigh, the bluerider returns K'rill's stare.  "Detail for me, if you will, the specific problems you're wanting me to solve here."

 

K'rill lifts a finger to K'rali and that is it. With negligence, he pushes back from where he sits to come around the table, approaching where the pair is at. Attention shifts not to K'rali but to the child, smile warming. "Veran, is it?" He drops to a crouch to get more on the kids line of view. "How many turns have you?" Bronzer has always been a sucker for kids. He reaches around into one of his pockets, only to pull out a bound dozen sweetsticks with an mischievous eye.

 

K'rali is stunned. In this situation, the best plan of action seems to be to address a speech to her still-laden plate.  "Me.  I'm the problem he wants to solve."  When she sees him making overtures to her Veran, the ex-harper's voice rises sharply.  "Veran, don't you take anything from that rider.  He's a bad man."  Veran looks up at K'rill with a smile reminiscent of his mother, accepts the candy, and holds up four silent fingers.  Bluerider lifts her eyes skyward, but the crawler-draped ceiling offers no assistance.

 

K'rill continues to grin to the kid, "Ahhh, four. My own boy is near on to eight turns now. He lives in Ista, but I'm sure Reilk would like to meet you some time. We go fishing quite often. Have you ever gone fishing?" Eyes are on the boy, but his voice is for K'rali, "One of them at least. One of the more... prolific ones at that."

 

"So I'm your problem.  Not just a problem, but a /prolific/ problem."  Veran watches the play between them with an expression of interest, but no awe at the rising sparkle in his Mamo's eyes.  "Why is that?  I show up to every drill.  I follow regulations.  I know my drills backwards and forwards.  I almost never promote anarchy and rebellion."  Almost.  K'rali viciously scratches out the Sirocco 'X' that's labelling her stone-cold tubers. 

 

K'rill continues to smile at the kid, but not before adding a couple more sweetsticks to the boy's hand. "And there is plenty more where that came from... ever want to learn how of fish, Veran... come see me." He moves to stand, but not before moving as if to ruffle the lad's hair as well. Bronzer glances down to K'rali, "Trust me. You are a problem." No angry words, just softly toned.

 

K'rali's gaze chills a bit more.  If she had a mark for every time she had heard that...  "I thought you were asking me to give advice on wing issues," she points out, acerbic.  Which suggests that she herself isn't so much of a wing problem as some other sort.  Veran, who's heard the word 'problem' enough that he can probably spell it, deftly ducks K'rill's outstretched hand and wrinkles his nose in a silent chuckle.

 

K'rill only ends up dropping into a seat next to K'rali on the other side of the boy, favoring her with a soft grin for her frosty look. "I was." Past tense. "But now I'm going to ask you to stop being quite to hostile. If not for me at least for..." He flickers a glance around her to the boy.

 

K'rali looks a little stricken at that.  "Hostile?"  Brows furrow abruptly.  "In all seriousness, K'rill, I haven't meant to be and don't think that I have been.  Hostile, that is."  The glance to Veran she totally ignores--because that's somewhere K'rill just shouldn't have gone.  "I just meant to make a suggestion about the wing--and I have." Where it goes from there is up to him.

 

K'rill sighs, "K'rali, please?" He turns his his chair to face her, voice soft and could almost be considered melodious.  "From the moment you sat at this table, you were angry. And at me, is my guess?" She wouldn't be the first person. "I do what I have to do because I /am/ the Wingleader, and until you hold this knot, I suggest that you take what I order as important. I don't do it for me. I do it for the wing."

 

K'rali looks honestly, sincerely confused.  "Not angry.  Just grumpy, and not necessarily at you.  Huge difference."  One brow arches at the word 'until'.  "I don't plan to try to take your spot, K'rill," she drawls.  "But as a member of the wing--a pretty established member of the wing--I have the right to make suggestions of the Wingleader.  And you also have the right to deny them, so--"  She chokes off an tactless phrase, such as 'don't get your knickers in a bunch.'  "--so I don't see a need for worry."  The other eyebrow lifts to match the first.

 

K'rill continues to watch her throughout her meandering words. "Okay. Good. Are we at an understanding then? Please don't hesitate to come to me about anything you have to say though. I'm approachable, very... even grumpy blueriders who seem to have it in for me." With that last part he offers her a wink, before reaching across the table to take back his wine goblet.

 

K'rali eyes him with a banal smile and cool gaze.  "Certainly, Wingleader, and I hope our professional relationship will flourish."  Having said her piece, she broadens her smile a bit and moves two seats down.  Now she can finally start sucking down those tubers.

 

K'rill's smile remains plastered to his face, faux. But its his eyes that take on that hard look again. Ahhhh, so that is how it is going to be. "That's why I do the things I do," equally as cool. Child is eyed, smile actually warming for him alone, before he turns away to patron his drink.

 

Tarin enters from the Bowl.

 

K'rali, seated at the same table as K'rill with two empty seats between them, seems to be concentrating on ignoring the Wingleader and keeping that expression indifferent; the result is that she keeps putting an empty fork into her mouth, though a full plate of tubers sits before her.  Oh, and then there's that small child watching every move she makes, rather like a dog waiting for scraps.

 

Party A from the east, Party B from the west. Worn out with traveling, they come to a.... No, no, no. Wrong play. Let's start over, class! Look! It's Tarin! Where are the screaming fans? Or, barring that, just the screaming?

 

K'rill tips the lip of his goblet of wine to his lips, drinking the contents slowly. Sidling glance flicker to K'rali now and again, only causing his frown to deepen. Silence reigns. Faranth help him. *grump* He is so possessed by his own... problems that Tarin's entrance doesn't even phase him, let alone gets noticed.

 

Tarin breezes over towards K'rali and K'rill. "Ah," she says, sounding pleased. "Two K'rs. Just the sort thing I like to see. So I guess you decided to make everyone in Sirocco sit alphabetically, K'rill? Maybe I'll tell the other wingleaders what you're up to." So that they can mock him as he deserves? Or so that they can resent him for being Captain Sparkle-O-Gram?

 

K'rali pushes back her chair with an expression of unmitigated delight.  "Tarin," she greets.  "You should stay away, you're a bad influence on my son."  Last comment is made lazily, though, with a tone suggesting that Tarin's influence is more welcome than...others'.

 

K'rill flickers a glance up to Tarin. Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy. His day is jus getting better and better. But right now, he'd much rather deal with the WeyrSecond than someone sitting down the table from him. Ugh. Women. "Its all a part of my diabolical plan, Tarin. First drills. Next seating charts. Tomorrow I plan on having leashes on all my riders. It'll make for a grand show. Come out and watch come sunrise?"

 

"I," Tarin informs the sadly misinformed K'rali, "am an excellent influence. Have the villagers come pounding at the gates since I took office? No! In fact, complaints are down." Of course, this may have something to do with Tarin's 'paperless office' policy. In other words, she has a very, very nice fire in her office. "However, it pains me to know that your leader here ha time to watch sunrises, when he ought to be chasing you over hill and over dale so your love will never fail."

 

K'rali would chew through her leash before you could say 'shove ::between::'--a phrase that she's had to bite back several times recently.  "Indeed he should," the bluerider agrees blandly with Tarin--it's just /better/ not to argue with her.  "Unfortunately, I've been labelled hostile and a problem."  Solemn nod punctuates that.  "A /prolific/ problem."  "What's this? Dissention in the ranks? What's the problem?" asks Our Esteemed Weyrsecond, a.k.a. She of the Crackly Fire.

 

K'rali lounges back in her chair and smiles over at K'rill.  "You explain."

 

K'rill brings a hand up to rub at his brow. For it is the never-ending day. Surely there are Pernese epithets that would describe it perfectly, right now every one seems to be absent from his vocabulary. Instead, he turns a wan glance to Tarin, "Nothing to  worry yourself about, Tarin. Nothing I can't solve... or at least be allowed to." Flickered glance to K'rali.

 

Tarin practices that silence thing. That expectant silence thing. You know the one. You must've heard it in school, at least once. S-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g s-i-l-e-n-c-e, going out into infinity or close enough. Who's going to break down and raise their hand?

 

Just imagine how your participation grade for the day must be plummeting! It's 20% of your final grade, you know. Can you really afford to lose points?

 

K'rali, for her part, practices the other end--the wide-eyed, guiltless stare, punctuated by a couple of blinks now and then.  (But not too often; it looks shifty.)  Once again, we'll just prevail upon our fearless (Wing)leader to answer up to the higher authority.

 

K'rill grumps in his seat. Yes, grumps. Women. /Exasperating/ women at that! Preoccupied with his own thoughts once again, our 'fear'less wingleader lapses into the rather uncompanionable silence. Frown. Deeper frown. A blink at the stretch, and he glances up to notice two pairs of eyes on him... not counting the kid. "What?"

 

Tarin gives up on the silence thing. Passive aggressive has never been her speciality. She's much better at plain, unadorned aggressive. "Well, K'rill, I have to tell you that I'm very disappointed that you haven't cured K'rali of her pro-licking stance by now. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that it makes a very bad impression on the holders, when a dragonrider goes around slurping perfect strangers. I'm sure it's a sickness, K'rali, so I don't hold you entirely responsible, but it's got to stop. Maybe the three of us should have meetings every day, until it gets straightened out."

 

Have we mentioned how Tarin is with long words? She must not have grasped 'prolific' quite correctly.

 

On the other hand, she seems to have grasped that meetings = torture pretty easily.

 

K'rali sneaked a taste of the jam (and a foul taste it was).  Almost

 immediately, the bluerider began to hallucinate.  S'naid, certain of foul

 play, tussled with Shendti for the jam and, while trying to strangle her,

 received a bad concussion.  Dessa attempted to soothe first one rider, then

 another, while R'ish observed and K'rali staggered about talking to imaginary

 widgets.  In the end, K'rali ran off like Hyde from Jekyll's laboratory,

 Dessa stormed out in hot pursuit of the fugitive Shendti, S'naid was taken

 down to the infirmary, and R'ish was left to contemplate the scene with

 Sissi, who arrived unfortunately late.

The jar is at large, pocketed by one of the many drudges who turned out to

 observe the scene.  Beware of any food prepared in the Fort Weyr Kitchens for

 the next month or so.

K'rali (sizz!)

--------------------------

K'rali tilts her head back in a throaty chuckle, sliding a wicked glance K'rill's way.  "The licking just gets worse," she admits.  "And I really don't know how to stop it...I don't want Veran to end up like me: hostile, problematic, and lickable--er, lick-oriented."

 

"Let's have the first meeting right now," Tarin decides. "Hostile licking just isn't appropriate in this day and age. In the olden days, you might have gotten away with it, but nowadays, it's more of a problem. K'rali, do you think if we made the holders taste bad, you might be more discouraged? K'rill could assign you to extra sweeps over drought-stricken country. Nobody wastes water on washing when there's a drought."

 

K'rill blinks and frowns. One would imagine that his frowning couldn't get any more exaggerated, but it just did. K'rali gets a very curious glance, before he peers back to Tarin, "Licking?" The poor boy is totally lost now, and is almost scared to be set back upon the right path this time. "Now what did I miss?"

 

Tarin repeats for K'rill, "Extra sweeps for K'rali, over drought country. So that the holders will taste bad. That would solve it, wouldn't it?"

 

K'rali wrinkles her nose.  That would make it...triple duty.  "I could just use a whole lot of self-control instead?" she suggests hopefully.  Veran, meanwhile, toddles up to Tarin's lower legs and beams skyward (is her face up there somewhere?), holding up one of K'rill's sweetsticks."Besides, that would also mean we have someone else on firewatch duty out there, which would be helpful. You probably need a few more people on that watch, anyway. Maybe you could join her," Tarin adds. Tarin, apparently, is not stingy. Shunning the teaspoon, she shovels her trouble on with a trowel. Absently, she pats the Short One on the head. As happens to all people who carelessly touch toddlers at the end of the day, her hand comes away sticky. She rubs it on her trousers.

 

K'rill slowly shoves to his feet, tossing a negligent hand-gesture Tarin-wards as if to shut her up -like that will ever happen. His eyes rivet upon K'rali at the sound of yet another transgression, "What is this about licking holders?  The story. Now." K'rill is vastly unhappy at this point, bordering upon anger. Ohhhh. This is a new emotion.

 

"If you fly all her sweeps with her, you can be sure to keep her from making a pest of herself, in case the urge overcomes the flavor," Tarin says helpfully. It's always a problem when you give Tarin too much time to think. She tends to embellish. And now she's embellishing K'rill right into triple-sweeps, alongside K'rali. Over drought territory, to boot.

 

K'rali's smile widens to match Veran's infantile grin as she tilts back on two legs, one foot 'gainst table's rim.  She always knew she could count on Tarin to make people cringe.  "It's the truth," she tells K'rill gravely, mastering her expression to one of total, somber dependability.  Yeah right.  "I just--I can't control it.  Someone comes near and I get the urge..."  She adds a few details, like eyes filled with pain and brows quirked down.  No, a little more.  There.

 

K'rill anger seems to deflate. Just like that. Gone. And it was K'rali's words that did it. No more reddending face of white knuckles. Gone. All gone. "That's a right pity, K'rali. Because if I can't have a member of my wing who can't be responsible for their basest actions... then I have no need for that member." Dispassionate, he glances over to Tarin, followed by a shrug of his shoulders. That's all. A last glance to K'rali, "Unless you can find a solution."

 

K'rali throws her head back and gives in to full-fledged laughter now.  She'd put her head down on the table, but then she'd get a faceful of mashed tubers, since she still hasn't finished the dang things.  So she just teeters on her two-legged chair instead. 

 

Tarin tells K'rill, "Really, K'rill, you have to learn to listen. We've just arrived at a solution. You, as the helpful wingleader that you are, will fly next to K'rali on all of her sweeps. Since she'll be flying over the drought area, she won't want to taste the holders, but you'll be there to help strengthen her will if she weakens. She'll have your glorious example before her, glowingly guiding her along the path to righteousness." Or something. "Plus you'll be keeping an eye out for fires. Just listen to the poor girl. She's hysterical with relief, to know that you'll be on her side. And of course, you'll both be reporting to me daily."

 

"I know you didn't want me to worry," Tarin says to K'rill, "but as you can see, I'm not worried. I have complete faith in you." Did someone give Tarin the /Manager's Own 101 Complete Sayings/ book?

 

Tarin, true to her embellishing nature, has come up with another idea. "And you know, I think just to keep you both safe, you both had better stop washing, as well. That'll probably hasten the cure."

 

K'rali by now has her hands clamped over her face to stifle her gales of mirth.  This is just...rich.  "Tarin, I'm going to marry you," she manages to gasp.

 

K'rill ignores K'rali, glancing to Tarin. "No." Simple. Straight forward. But a single word. He is at that point right now where... well, he has had it. It being... well, it. And the poor guy is so utterly serious for all the laughter and such going on in the room, that one would imagine he is made of stone.

 

"If they refuse to let you eat in here after a few days, I'm sure the drudges will be happy to set you up near the feeding pens. It's not for the faint-of-stomach, but your smell will be covered by that of all the beasts," Tarin adds, then breaks off. "Oh, K'rali," she says, "you don't need to thank me. Just knowing that my riders are becoming better and happier is, for me, a sign of a day well-spent. Why be weyrsecond, if you just maintain the status quo, is what I say." Well, she probably does say /that/. Whether or not she's buying even fifteen percent of what she's saying is anyone's guess. But she always was the sort of person who liked to shake things to hear them fizz.

 

And this only after a few months of being K'rali's Wingleader.  Imagine how he'll be in a couple Turns. 

 

Tarin asks K'rill, "No? Well, if you don't want to give up washing, I guess it can be just K'rali who does that part," Tarin says, "but you have to understand that you're taking a risk."

 

K'rali subsides to a broad smile, toppling back to four legs so that she can watch her fate being decided by those powers who are authorized to make up stuff like that.

 

Sirocco's wingleaders seem to have unfortunate fates. There was that one that went insane, there was Gr'im who... well. Best not to say what sort of state he was in when he was kicked out. And now K'rill, poor K'rill has joined the ranks of the doomed. When the Greek gods are offended, they transform you into an echo or a spider or something. When the Pernese gods (were there not rules about such things) are offended, they transform you into Sirocco's wingleader.

 

K'rill could sure use some unbuttoning. Even a good case of letting your hair down and going with the flow. But when it comes to that pretty spiffy knot on his shoulder, he isn't about to let it go. "Tarin, if you are so fardling hot and bothered to see to the fate of K'rali. Then you can have at her, with my pleasure. Faranth knows I'd be more than happy to wash my hands of her and be done."

 

Who knows what K'rill did to deserve this! Perhaps he declared that he was more beautiful than the goddesses, perhaps he saw one of the gods pulling up his socks. Perhaps... but no. No doubt, these are painful memories for our young wingleader.

 

Maybe he just tried to put a leash on K'rali.  In any case, said K'rali has proceeded to a more demure smirk, legs crossed--she's not fazed by K'rill's dismissal.  Veran, for his part, has never had so much fun in his life.

 

Tarin makes a tch-ing noise. "K'rill," she says again, "I just said that you could wash if you wanted to. You must start paying attention. You're my eyes and ears out there. She stands up, rubbing her hands briskly. "Anyway, that's taken care of. When the two of you come off sweeps tomorrow, you can tell me what progress you're making. I expect it won't take more than two, three days, tops, to make you both see the light." Er... wait, now. What's this 'both' stuff? Isn't this cure for K'rali alone? Isn't this--? Hush. She said the word, and she looks like she's on her way out.

 

K'rali calls after her.  "Wait, Tarin.  Could you tell us one more time what the objective of this little exercise is?"

 

She's lost track amid all the embellishments.

 

K'rill draws his fingers through his hair. Not once, not twice, but repeatedly and with great aplomb. If he keeps this up, the poor guy will be snatched bald among other things. Tarin is awarded a furious smirk as she heads away. Faranth save him!

 

>> I sense that Rhioth's voice is still warm, though uncertain.  <<Is this

 good or bad?>> <<

 

That is a problem, isn't it? I mean, you start with a little program. Say, a simple text editor. And you add the ability to mess with margins and fonts and footnotes and all the rest. And that's just great. And you keep going, making styles and search capabilities, and eventually you link it to your browser, and wham! Someone sues you! Embellishments sure can make life tricky. "That's easy," Tarin says, grandly, "All of my activities have the same objective: to make my life easier. "You'll be kept busy, supervised, and unwashed, all of which should effectively keep you out of trouble. Even if you feel like licking people, you won't be able to get near enough to give in to the urge." And with that festive exiting line, Tarin heads through the doorway to improve other people's lives.

 

>> I bespoke Rhioth with: I sense that Llynth is decidedly cooler, tinged with

 just the right amount of lace and lavender only to admit << I have no idea >>

 <<

 

Tarin heads out into the immense bowl.

 

K'rali sprawls back in her chair again, casually hooking one leg over wooden arm, and looks directly at K'rill for the first time during the little interview.  Her grin is intimate, roguish, and totally unabashed. 

 

K'rill continues to follow Tarin's progress 'til even her shadow is nonexistant. Breathe. Breathe. Slowly, every so slowly, rider turns upon booted heels to look upon K'rali with something far less than enjoyment. In fact, he looks about ready to pop a vessel. "I suggest that you either send you child away... or you leave with your child this very moment." He is dead serious. 

 

K'rali sizes him up, decided he really /is/ serious, and glances over her shoulder at Veran to murmur something under her breath.  Obediently, the boy toddles off to the nursery.  Having gotten rid of the only force that could censor K'rill now, the bluerider faces him, her smile tempered to gravity for decency's sake.

 

K'rill's gaze follows Veran 'til the boy is gone, steps even causing him to angle that way to make sure he isn't just around the corner or anything. Satisfied that the boy is, in fact, gone, he turns back towards K'rali, gradually making his way closer to her, "Are you satisfied?" Again, not raised in anger, but not quite his normal timbre either.

 

Something like antagonism flashes within K'rali's eyes for the first time.  "No," she states sardonically.  "Until your demise is complete, I will never be satisfied."  A trace of a frown, now.  "Come on, K'rill, this is not something I planned or even wanted."

 

>> I sense that Rhioth, with that tactless aspect native to both dragon and rider, observes, <<Don't you think he's being a little harsh to her?>>  Open mouth, insert tail--not that he realizes it. <<

 

"Oh?" K'rill's voice takes on a mocking timbre. Once more, a very unfamiliar sound coming from this here bronzer. "Is that so? Then what exactly did you have planned, hrm? What was it you would have wanted?" He continues to stare down at her, dispassionate, eyes the only thing that could be betraying him.

 

K'rali sternly suppresses an oncoming grin.  "I would have liked it if we could have resolved our difficulties," she recites with pristine breathing, inflection, and facial expressions.  But that illusion disintegrates as she scowls, "I don't plan to disrupt your lifestyle.  I didn't plan to.  I most likely won't in the future.  You're awful quick to jump to erroneous conclusions."

 

>> I bespoke Rhioth with: I sense that Llynth would ruffle feathers if he had any. Instead, he goes with dull screech of metal on metal, antique at that << Not enough, if you ask me >> Which Rhioth did. <<

 

K'rill stands over her, arms crossed before his chest. "It sure would have been nice, resolving any differences." His head shakes from side to side, rueful. "Alas, you've got me wound up so tight... I don't see how you can /not/ disrupt me, Faranth help me." Gaze is troubled, annoyed anger still clinging with a death grip to the edges.

 

>> I sense that Rhioth ruffles back as the clouds roll in and his voice chills.  <<That is not true.  She meant no harm.  He is being...>> And he pauses here for dramatic effect, 'cause this is the best part. <<...is being Unfair!>>  Yeah, take that. <<

 

>> I bespoke Rhioth with: I sense that Llynth comes across with all the impressive baring of inbred nobility. In other words, a haughty whine << He is being the /WingLeader/. Bare you remember that! >> <<

 

Somewhat confident that he's not about to blow up now, K'rali allows her smile to surface and rises lithely to her feet.  "Well, it's true," she confirms what he's said.  "But I think I'll be applying for a wing change anyway."  Her gaze is  stony over her light grin.  "I'm sure it will be processed after our little assignment."

 

>> I sense that Rhioth crackles, lightning-seared, <<He is being a /bad/ Wingleader!  K'rali would be a /much/ better one.  She was Wingsecond for...for...>> Erm.  <<A /really long time/!>> <<

 

K'rill's face falls into one of astonishment. "What?" He didn't actually mean what he said before. That was in the heat of the discussion, when he was getting pissed beyond all reason. Yeah, when Tarin was here. He takes a step back from her as she stands, not quite ready to trust himself. "You'd leave my wing because of this?"

 

>> I bespoke Rhioth with: I sense that Llynth snorts, with great contempt <<

 So you say. But she is not. >> Only to flicker with a lavender doily in echo.

 <<

 

K'rali's grin vaporizes.  Where'd it go?  "I'm helping you wash your hands of me, Wingleader," she purrs ominously.  "Since I'm obviously a danger to your reputation and that of the wing.  Never mind my past experience.  Never mind my committment.  Never mind...well, ahem."  She blinks a few times--best to leave that unsaid.  "I told you I'd help you solve your problems, so here I am.  And here I go.  I'll see you over the next few days?" She angles her shoulders towards the exit.

 

K'rill is not going to totter after her like some whipped puppy. No! No! No! Fardles. A low growl takes his throat, deep within. A hand lashes out as if to try to grip her elbow, he moves to speak close to her ear, "I'd prefer to keep my problems nice and close, Rania. All the better to attack and solve."

 

K'rali's growl matches his as her fingers close about his wrist before he can touch her.  "Don't touch me," she breathes, throwing his hand away with as much force as she can muster.  "And incidentally?  My name's not Rania.  It's K'rali.  Didn't you know?"  With her glare at basilisk-strength, she glowers at him for a moment before whispering furiously, "I'm not your /problem/ anymore."  It's all talk, but it sounds good, and there's a free swing to her step as she wheels towards the door.

 

K'rali heads out into the immense bowl.

 

Message 46 on *Fort Weyr (#3978):

Date:     Tue Jan 29 04:17:47 2002 EST

From:     K'rali (#16218)

To:       *Fort Weyr (#3978)

Subject:  Oh, what a night.

 

There's an undercurrent of tension in Sirocco Wing these days.  Wingleader K'rill's stormy expression and stern attitude has all the wingriders intimidated /and/ curious, while there's whispers of former Wingsecond K'rali getting mixed up in the whole thing.  Everyone knows that K'rali is wee bit manic and K'rill is a tad straightlaced, so the rumors are making the rounds of the Weyr.

 

It seems that the two K'r's have had a bit of a falling out--over what is anybody's guess.  But the scene culminated in the Living Cavern one late night when tempers rose, along with the sound of laughter, and K'rill declared that he wanted no more of K'rali.  Tarin, in her newfound power, decreed that the two shall spend daily time together, since that would /obviously/ solve all their problems.  So on top of sweeps...and Sirocco's grueling training schedule...the pair are resigned to flying firewatch sweeps over drought country.  Together.  Every day.  What's more, K'rali is not allowed to bathe until Tarin lifts the restrictions.

 

Rumor has it that K'rali has applied for a wing change, but Tarin refused to let her abandon her wing of nearly ten Turns. Mention K'rali to K'rill, and he'll adopt a bleak expression before asking whether you have anything better to do, because the ashpits need cleaning.  Mention K'rill to K'rali, and, depending on factors such as the time of day, the tides, and the color shirt you're wearing, she'll break into either laughter or growls. 

 

As the Wing turns, indeed.  Stay tuned--and stay out of the way.

 

K'rali (sizz!)

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