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...

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