6/20/2002
11:42
PM
Logfile
from Sk'lar.
Guest
Ground Weyr
Large
cavern built to house visiting dragons and riders from other Weyrs. There is a
small nook housing cots and other items for the human riders to use. The only
real splash of color in this barren cavern is the murals on the walls. Scenes
depicting hatchings, weyrlings flights, wings training, and mating flights.
Annie
is here.
From
here you can go:
Out
Annie
rolls over in bed, stretching and yawning-- oh, another morning of running the
Weyr (into the ground). As murky green eyes crack open, however, and sight the
face of a certain bronzerider, the Weyrwoman screams.
Sk'lar
was happily slumbering away on his side of the cot, more than likely hogging
most of the blanket with arms and legs flung all over the place. He was also in
his happy place, deep in dreamland, when all that comes to a screeching halt
-quite literally. Bronzer sits bolt upright in bed, eyes wide open.
"What?! What?!"
Annie
screams again, a wordless scream of sheer terror, and she flails out with all
four limbs to evict the bronzerider from the cot. Another scream, and her
cheeks pinken considerably. "No! Oh, /no/! No! Shardin' bloody-- no! Not
/you/!" Her tone is ultimately one of disgust, loathing, and complete
disbelief. She snatches at her pink muumuu that lies on the floor, clutching it
to her chest for modesty.
Sk'lar
is tumbled from the cot unceremoniously, more than likely dragging whatever
blankets were wrapped about him. *Oif* There is a long moment where the
teenager is wrestling with the blankets, coming from them a tousled mess. He
blinks owlishly at Annie for a long moment and then chuckles. Its sort of a
slow chuckle that is rather faint, and then grows and grows and grows.
"No!
No-- stop laughing! No! Shut /up/!" The Weyrwoman looks about herself
wildly, as if the /real/ winner of the flight will come prancing around the
corner at any minute. "It's-- it's a /mistake/! You didn't win!" She
clutches her muumuu tighter, then buries her face in the masses of
sweat-stained pink fabric. "/Noooo/," she moans into the cloth.
Sk'lar
turns his face up to Annie, mirth obvious. "Fardles, and Tarlin said this
would be poetic justice if it ever happened." *snicker* Obviously the full
repercussions of what actually happened haven't totally sunk in yet. Give it a
moment, then he will prolly be a quivering pile of goo. He lifts the blankets
to peer down at his... yep, nekkid form. "Yeah, I'd say it happened."
Or it is a really cruel joke. And without wrapping the blanket about him, the
teenager moves to stand. He moves to stretch, only to wince and rub his jaw.
Hey. Wait. "You hit me."
Annie
averts her eyes quickly from Sk'lar, mouth agape. "I-- I /hit/ you? Well,
/you/... /you/..." She stumbles over the words, unable to find an
appropriate euphemism for what Sk'lar did to /her/. "You should be glad
that all I did was hit you!" she yells at him, eyes narrowing. She bites
her lower lip, hard, still clutching the muumuu to her flat chest. "Don't
you think this means anything, you impertinent child," she cautions him
with a hiss.
Sk'lar
nearly shudders at her words. Okay, so he does. "Are you kidding me? You
are old enough to be my mother!" He shakes it off before turning about to
look for his discarded clothing, hoping Annie didn't manage to tear it up any.
That would be disturbing. "You better believe it doesn't.. mean... any...
thing..." Just as trous are picked up off the floor, he turns back about
to just /stare/ at her. Uhhhh. Its beginning to hit him.
"I
know I am!" Annie shouts at Sk'lar. She has no concept of lowering her
voice at this point. "What gave you the /nerve/ to think you had any
/right/ to do this to me! I'll have you grounded for /life/. I'll have G'golo
ground you right no--." She cuts off, realizing something. G'golo is no
longer in charge. Oh, /shards/.
Sk'lar's
mouth forms a perfect O. It is at this point where he doesn't know whether to
congratulate his bronze for his prowess, or scold him soundly. Bad Kahlendroth!
Bad dragon! He is immediately tugging on his trous, bouncing in place. "I
can't fardling believe this," he mutters.
"/You/
can't believe it?" Annie hisses at Sk'lar, turning her back to quickly
slip the stained pink tent of a dress over her head, tugging it down to cover
her angular form. "/I'm/ the one who can't believe it. I can't believe
this. This is ridiculous. This is unheard of! I'm sure it will /never/ stand up
in a conclave. These are extenuating circumstances. I'm /sure/ they'll
understand." She rambles on, speaking mostly to herself.
Sk'lar
tosses his shirt over his chest, words muffled under the cloth. "I'm the
sharding Weyrleader...." There is clear astonishment in those words. Shirt
is tugged down and stuffed into his trous. "What do you mean not stand up?
Of course it will! Serath flew and Kahlen caught... you can't very well say it
never happened."
"No
you're not and yes I can!" Annie shouts at Sk'lar, now hopping off the cot,
muumuu billowing about her skinny legs and drifting over bare feet that slap
against a cold stone floor as she begins to pace rather nervously. "You're
too young! This is my Weyr! You can't /do/ this to me, Sk'lar!" That last
note has a hint of pleading in it.
Sk'lar
is now tugging on his boots, nearly dancing in place as one after another are
placed on his feet. "Hah! It's already been done." He stops into the
last boot and is quickly storming up to Annie. "And you better fardling
well learn to live with it, Annie."
Annie
stops her pacing as Sk'lar nears her, fists clenching at her sides. She draws
herself up, attempting to make her bony, pale, pink-muumuu'ed self look
imposing. "I better /what/? Don't you talk to me that way!" Eyes
flash, but there /is/ some worry there -- some worry that her world is about to
come tumbling down upon her.
Sk'lar
drags his fingers through his hair, combing it back somewhat. "Again, get
used to it, Annie." Hah! He doesn't have to take Annie's taunting any
more! That alone is worth the new title. Another pat to the front of his shirt,
and he is flickering a glance to Annie. "Time to greet the Weyr..."
And he is starting for the exit out.
"Oh,
no you don't!" Annie shouts at Sk'lar, darting after him, barefoot still.
Main
Living Cavern
Melodic
laughter rings throughout the spacious cavern as riders socialize with one
another, boasting of adventures a-dragonback, and gossiping about stodgy
wingleaders and sordid affairs. Drudges rush past you, their arms laden with
dishes and mugs of Klah, desperate to relieve themselves of their burden while
pesky 'lizards inhibit their progress.
The
light from the glows warmly illuminates the domed cavern and shimmers off the
walls as miniscule mineral particles reflect the soft lighting like twinkling
stars blanketed in a wintry gray sky. Numerous tables lie scattered across the
room, some large enough to hold a whole wing of riders while others were made
only for two. Towards the back, a large
hearth breathes soul soothing warmth into weary bodies as its flames dance with
hypnotic grace and puppet flickering shadows across the spacious stone
stage. Sultry, mouth-watering aromas
float in from a small archway that leads to the kitchens while chattering can
be heard emanating from a wide hallway.
Flopped
atop various perches are Blazet, Fallon, Curious, Mysti, and Sanctus.
You see
A small runnerbeast carving, kitten carving, Reni, and Telgar Weyr Menu here.
Tarlin
is here.
From
here you can go:
Lower
Caverns Bowl Infirmary
Kitchen Gaming Room
Aida
has arrived.
Annie
has arrived.
Sk'lar
is still looking a bit toussled, but he nearly arrives in the caverns at a fair
run... could that be to escape the howling and clutching of a certain person?
Hrm? Hard to say. Yeah, still in the clothes from the other day too. Real nice
appearance to make, eh?
"--Get
back here!" Annie's shout enters the cavern with her as she chases after
Sk'lar, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, and a stained, pink muumuu billowing about
her form. Her bare feet slap against the stone floor as she pursues.
"We're not done talking about this you sharding disrespectful little
boy!"
Tarlin
has fallen asleep beside the hearth, managing somehow to doze through the
chatter and cackles of the surrounding aunties. A platter of now cold food sits beside the arm propped against
the nearest table, a pitcher of juice and empty glass beside it. A thread of drool has left a crusty trail
from the corner of her lips to the bottom of her chin and a wet spot on the
front of her tunic.
Aida
turns from where she was pouring herself some klah, clutching the mug
protectively to herself as the Weyrwoman's bellow rings through the
cavern. "Shards, it's begun,"
she mutters to herself and grabs the collar of a child who's about to dart into
the path of rampaging riders. "I'd
go the other way, kid," she adds and pushes the weyrbrat off in a much
safer direction.
Sk'lar
wheels back upon Annie, eyes dancing at her bellow. Ohhh, is that how it is
going to be? Instead of running away from her, he is instead swooping up to her
in one quick movement. Without further ado, he is moving as if to curl an arm
about Annie's waist, but more than quick to duck out of the way should she feel
the need to bruise or cause him to bleed any further. "Good day,
everyone!" the bronzer booms jovially, a little too jovially.
Carid
has arrived.
"Don't
you touch-- take your filthy hands-- get /off/ me!" Annie stumbles over
her words, attempting to shrug Sk'lar off of her, to squirm away and plot his
painful demise. She looks flustered, upset. And you better believe she has
every right to be.
Tarlin
starts awake, nearly oversetting her chair.
She blinks herself alert, embarassed at the realization that she's still
in the stinky, stained work uniform from the night before. Making a face at the odor of herself, she
rises and stretches. "What time is
it?" she asks of the nearest resident. Dismayed at the answer, she scans
the still full platter, then frowns at the fight ensuing beyond.
Aida
just hangs back with her klah. The
fancy Weyrsecond knot on her shoulder doesn't mean that she has to throw
herself in harm's way to protect their new Weyrleader -- particularly when the
latter seems inclined to dance with danger.
Inching over to the hearth, Aida instead nudges Tarlin, though her gaze
remains narrowed on Sk'lar.
"Doesn't matter what time it is.
Your boy's up." Though up for
what, remains to be seen.
Sk'lar
smirks back at Annie as she tries to scuttle away from him. And so, he turns
back to the cavern at large, "Obviously our Weyrwoman doesn't quite have
her full senses this morning. A little klah over here please." And so, he
waves towards a drudge to do so. Of course, get off me wasn't exactly what she
was saying last evening. Don't mind the huge bruise on his jaw.
Carid
strides in... and stops dead in her tracks.
Mind you, the brownrider has been looking forward to Sk'lar's downfall,
but preferably not when she wants breakfast.
Sliding quietly around to join Tarlin and Aida, she dashes off a quick
salute to the latter and nods towards the other two. "I take it the new title hasn't improved his attitude?"
she murmurs, flashing the cook a semi-apologetic look. "Oh, and, er, good morning, Weyrsecond
Aida. Morning, Tarlin."
Tarlin
rubs sleep from her eyes, the scene a blur beyond. She frowns at both brownriders, her lips compressed in annoyance
then presses past them to catch up the pitcher of juice and the pair of
glasses. She'd been waiting for this
moment, though she'd hoped it wouldn't be quite so... loud. She bustles over to interject herself into
the argument. "Juice? Weyrwoman?
Weyrleader?" she asks at her most formal. "If you'd like something to eat, the kitchens are at your
service."
Annie
glowers at Sk'lar, pushing off of him with sharp elbows. "Let go of me,
you wherry-brained sack of herdbeast dung! Who said you had the right to touch
me? Why, I should--" She cuts off. Wait. Is there anything she /can/ do to
him, at this point? A drudge hurries up with the klah. "And I don't want
any sharding /klah/!" she ends up shouting in the poor, young drudge's
face. The drudge runs off. At Tarlin's offer, Annie again forgets to use her
indoor voice. "No! -- And don't call him Weyrleader!"
Aida
notes adroitly to Carid, "You gonna call /him/ 'Weyrleader', with /her/
being that way?" The Weyrsecond
smirks, though she's careful to hide it behind her mug, lest either warring
party see her. "He might find it
sexy if Tarlin calls him 'Weyrleader' in bed, though. And hit him once in a while -- hit him hard." Her tone hangs in limbo, somewhere between
jocularity and absolute seriousness.
Carid
rolls her eyes; there's such a thing as over-loyalty, and... well, we won't get
into what Carid thinks should be done to Sk'lar. As it is, both cinnamon brows arch, and she again glances at
Aida. "Has this been going on
very--Aida!" Some things just
deserve an exclamation and a gratuitous dropping of titles. "Weyrsecond, nothing, short of an edict
from Weyrwoman Annie, could get me to call him 'Weyrleader', and I can't see
that happening anytime soon."
Sk'lar
has made it this far without serious bodily injury by listening to his
instincts, and they are screaming from him to release Annie. Huh. And just why
won't he follow them right away. "Yes, Weyrleader... has a nice sound to
it, doesn't it? Weyrleader Sk'lar." He shoots Tarlin a wink before taking
a long step away from Annie and any bony elbows. Good thing he didn't hear what
Aida said, otherwise he'd prolly be laughing once more.
"Much
easier to say 'Sk'lar', anyway," Aida opines, folding her arms so her left
hand is clutching her klah mug against her right elbow. "Good thing I wasn't around for the
flight," she mutters, her gaze fading into blankness as she stares at the
two.
Tarlin
sighs, rubbing at her eyes again with the heel of her glass-filled hand. The pitcher is set on the nearest table as
she gathers her rumpled self together.
She flashes a wary smile at Sk'lar, takes a deep breath, then begins,
"Weyrwoman. Kahlendroth won
Serath's flight. Everyone knows. Like it or not.." She glances over her
shouler at the snarky comments from the peanut gallery, "he /is/ the
Weyrleader, right now, and you are /not/, either of you, behaving like
Weyrleaders." She wrinkles her
nose. Could she have ever guessed that
she'd be scolding people when she was younger?
"You're
not Weyrleader," Annie states to Sk'lar in utter seriously, frown creasing
her features, creating deep furrows in her brow. "I don't know where you
get the idea," she hisses at the teenaged bronzerider. "Whoever heard
of a Weyrleader so /soon/ out of weyrlinghood?" She gives a nervous laugh,
but it breaks off as Tarlin speaks, and she turns to award the girl an icy
glare. "Shut up. You just want him to be Weyrleader because you two sleep
together." Low blow. Please forgive Annie. She is in a distinctly
dysfunctional mood.
Tss'a
strides into the living caverns, snapping a salute accurately to each and every
rider she passes, but as her exhausted eyes alight on Annie, her feet follow that gaze and take her towards the
Weyrwoman. She stops, though, maintaining a respectful distance until spoken
to. Though it doesn't sound like there's a whole lot of respect flying back and
forth here.
Carid
has a few other names for the bronzerider, in point of fact. Distracted by Tarlin's sheer audacity, she
watches the scene wide-eyed, moving on from Aida to the available food and
drink. Passing by the trio, she takes a
moment to salute Annie before returning to her 'I'm not here' act.
Aida
begins to call half-heartedly after Tarlin, "You don't want to get into
the middle of -- " but her warning falters, as Annie's diatribe takes
precedence. Remaining firmly by the
hearth, she mutters to herself, "He /can't/ be Weyrleader. He's not even been wingleader yet. He's not even twenty yet, is he?" she
asks someone passing by, who simply shrugs and ducks away, lest a second
explosion be imminent.
"You
don't think I'm Weyrleader, eh?" Sk'lar smirks at Annie, advancing on her
once again. Guess he didn't pay any attention to those inner warning sirens. A
hand comes up to pluck the wingrider knot from his shoulder and toss it
negligently towards the fire. "Guess what, Annie. I am, and you and the
rest of this Weyr is just going to have to live with it. Kahlendroth caught
Serath, not some other phantom imagining on your part. The best dragon won. And
here it is." He waves his hands wide. "So stop acting like the little
'brat you seem to think that I am and be the Weyrwoman you are supposed to be.
Grow up and stop your screeching."
Low
blow, indeed. Tarlin smiles sweetly,
perhaps a little /too/ sweetly, at the Weyrwoman, folding her hands before
her. "Actually, I find it amusing
that someone who's been riding for about as long as I've been living can
discard the tradition that put /her/ where /she/ is so easily." That said, she turns to face her weyrmate,
her smile held in check with a lip clenched between her teeth.
A
goodly amount of juice nearly makes it to table and floor as Carid stares in
stupification at Sk'lar and Tarlin.
"Sk'lar, you haven't acted like anything other than an arrogant
brat in the entire time I've been here," she snaps, wincing. Some things... weren't actually meant to
leave her thoughts. "Please accept
my apologies, Weyrwoman Annie, for interrupting." Becaused she'll be Threaded if she'll
apologize to a bronzerider. Tarlin is
utterly ignored; the brownrider has nothing to say to cocky weyrfolk.
Aida's
glance darts sharply at Carid, followed by a hissed, "Really not your
place to comment, rider, when you're so recently graduated yourself." Aida's not even interfering, and she's got
the big, shiny knot to protect her.
"Tarlin! Get over
here," she calls instead, attempting to break up the tableau.
Annie
is livid. And Sk'lar came within arm's swing's reach. The rather impulsive,
uncontrollable goldrider clenches a fist and takes a wild, heavy swing in the
direction of her new Weyrleader's head. Tarlin is lucky. Annie can only swing
at one person at a time, and the poor Weyrwoman is /horribly/ distracted by her
current, miserable plight. She is shaking. She is angry. She turns blankly to
Carid for a brief moment. "He's not Weyrleader," she almost pleads.
It is a
very good thing that Sk'lar's attention is completely upon Annie, otherwise
Carid might just have found herself grounded for what just came out of her
insubordinate mouth. He won't hesitate to use his new-found position for a bit
of dearly-needed order. Sky manages to duck aside to miss Annie connecting with
his nose, which is a very good thing. But, she does crack her fist right into
his eye. Bronzer rocks back a pace, covering his eye with a hand.
"Shaffit, Annie!" he bellows. The little girl needs a lesson, it
seems. And without further ado, the bronzer swoops forward to try to do what he
has done to so many women, try to slug her over his shoulder.
Tss'a
steps back, way back, not going to get involved. She turns to a drudge, fishing
a note out of her pocket. "Can you please make sure that Weyrwoman Annie
gets this, when she's not so distracted, after the argument is over?" The
drudge nods. "Thanks," the greenrider murmurs, and slips back towards
the entrance.
Aida
squints as Annie's fist connects, but doesn't make any move towards the
trio. Her eyes drift closed, her own
fists clenched, the klah mug quivering slightly in the grasp of her left hand. "Stupid, stupid, stupid -- " she
murmurs to herself.
Carid
glances at Aida and nods. "And
you'll note I apologized for being impulsive," the younger woman points
out calmly before returning her attention to Annie and the goldrider's almost
pathetic plea. "As it happens, I
agree with you fully, Weyrwoman, but I also know that the dragons choose, for
whatever reason. And I've found, even
in my short time as a rider," she smiles ruefully, "it's sometimes
better not to argue with... great Faranth." The look on the wingrider's face suggests that Sky's life is now
in his own hands, that hopefully Annie won't kill him soon, if only for
Kahlendroth's sake, and that she's just going to step back and find a drudge to
clean up the remains.
Tss'a
strides with determination and purpose toward Northern Curve of the Bowl.
Uppity
weyrfolk, indeed. It might be wise to
remember that /this/ uppity weyrfolk happens to handle the food that the Weyr
eats. Tarlin catches Sk'lar's move
before he makes it. "Sky!"
she shouts warning, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She knows she shouldn't underride his
authority when things are so shaky.
Frowning, she takes a step back, effectively removing herself from the
scene.. somewhat.
Annie
finds herself thrown over Sk'lar's shoulder, and /this/ she finds especially
intolerable. She flails. She kicks. She beats on his back with those
oh-so-dangerous bony fists of hers. "Put me down!" she shrieks,
making quite a scene. No wonder half the Weyr is ringing around the Weyrleader
and Weyrwoman in shocked amazement, not knowing whether to be horribly amused
or just /horrified/. "You little snot-nosed excuse for a brat! /Put/ /me/
/down/!"
Aida's
eyes start open at Annie's shriek, but just as quickly she turns away, booking
it out of there. A rider tries to stop
her, asking her to intervene, but she simply shakes her head and strides out
without a backward glance. She'll have
no part of this.
Sk'lar
swings Annie about on his shoulder, get the most mileage out of her position.
"You know what, maybe it would just be better if I took you over my knee
and gave you a spanking. Maybe that'll knock some sense into you." He lets
that threat hang moments before he starts walking towards... oh. oh... what is
that? The kitchens? And what is in the kitchens? Great, big, giant tubs full
washing water. Uh-huh.
Aida
strides toward Lower Caverns.
Carid
strides purposefully toward Northern Curve of the Bowl.
"I'll
have the conclave declare you unfit to lead! I'll never let G'golo give you the
knot! I'll have you banished! I'll have you grounded!" Annie lets go a
steady stream of empty threats right into Sk'lar's ear at full Annie-Shriek.
She continues to abuse his back with flailing fists.
Tarlin
snorts, folding her arms across her chest.
"Anyone could threaten the same for her," she mutters under
her breath, then steps back again until she's even with Aida. She glances sidewise at the Weyrsecond and
smiles warily. She's had her say.
Sk'lar
winces at the beating his back is getting. Those bruises should go well with
all the others -never mind that his left eye is already starting to swell up.
It'll be a pretty purple color tomorrow. Simply gorgeous. "You'll live
with it!" he growls moments before waddling into the kitchens with Annie
still over his shoulder.
Tarlin
snorts, folding her arms across her chest.
"Anyone could threaten the same for her," she mutters under
her breath, then steps back again until she's even with a familiar face. She glances sidewise at her fellow cook,
who's come to gawk, and smiles warily. She's had her say.
The
Weyrleader and Weyrwoman disappear into the kitchen, the smaller of the two
thrown over the other's shoulder. Clattering, something shattering, a splash,
then an undignified squeal ensue. A few sloshes later, there is the sound of
fist against flesh, another splash and high-pitched squeal, a resounding slap,
another splash, and finally Annie's shout: "I hate you! Leave me
alone!" A moment's silence passes, and then the leading pair of Telgar Weyr
emerge, one swollen and bruised, the other soaking wet in her stained, pink
dress.
Sk'lar
might just have to take a swing by the infirmary later. He seems to be limping
as he emerges from the kitchens, a little wet around the edges and wincing with
every other step. "Uhhh, Tarlin? Ready to go up to the Weyr now?" He
is done here, for today.
Too bad
there's no such thing as cameras, because the Weyrleader pair would now be
bathed in the light of multiple flashes if there were. As it is, the residents who've gathered to
witness the exchange simply gawk as an uneasy silence settles over the
room. The moment passes, however, with
the fickleness of such moments and the room comes alive with whispering.
Annie,
soaked to the bone, and with too much showing through her damp muumuu, ignores
everyone -- /especially/ Sk'lar -- and stalks out of the living cavern,
mumbling under her breath. She's going to get him back for this if it's the
last thing she does.
Tarlin
was waiting for the moment of their emergence.
At Sk'lar's question, she lets loose the beam she'd been holding all
this time. "I thought you'd never ask!" she calls in reply. She trots to his side, wraps an arm about
his waist, and urges him quickly towards the door.
Sk'lar
is quickly urged, albeit at a limping pace. "We've got some numbweed up
there, right?" And the pair make their way out.
Message
70 of 70 on *TelgarWeyr (#280):
Date: Thu Jun 20 23:35:34 2002 CDT
From: Sk'lar (#8973)
To: *Gossip (#165) and *TelgarWeyr (#280)
Subject: Meet your new Telgar Leadership!
It was
already the talk of Telgar Weyr, the leadership flight. Stong-willed,
strong-fisted Annie and the teenaged hooligan, Sk'lar. That simply is not a
match one would imagine ever happening. Ever. Never ever. And especially as the
leadership of Telgar Weyr.
And so,
it came to be the morning after, and the fireworks had already begun. Both came
into the living caverns, one looking smug the other in denial. One in pink and
the other sporting a purple bruise on the chin. Let the yelling and bellows
ensue! The watchrider on the stones could have swore he heard it from his post.
Of
course, the best part was when it began to get physical. And here people
thought just the flight and the culmination was exciting. Nope, the Weyrwoman's
fists were flying, giving the new weyrleader a blazing shiner right in the
middle of the living caverns for all the Weyr to witness. That was moments
before the new Weyrleader was throwing Annie over his shoulder and tossing her
into a tub of washing water in the kitchen. More blows and dunking 'til both
emerged from the kitchens, much to the delight of the local residents, sulky.
Very sulky.
Yes,
Pern! This is the new leadership of Telgar Weyr at its finest! And this is just
the beginning...
--------------------------