[Log] Raving Egomaniac
Who: Sh'drian, Winter
When: Day 2, Month 9, Turn 199, 10th Interval
Where: Winter and Alaemyth's Weyr, Ierne Weyr
What: Sh'drian and Winter wake up after Alaemyth's flight.
Late in the evening, after most of the Weyr's gone to bed, and news of the new Weyrleader pair has been disseminated, mostly by those who didn't win the flight, Winter opens her eyes upon blackness. Where did her clothes go? Who is she with? And where are they? It takes a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the nighttime weyr, and she recognizes it vaguely as the one she'd been borrowing for her visits to Ierne during her rounds across Pern. Then she turns her attention to the bronzerider with her, for it had to have been a bronzerider, and when recognition is made, she swears profusely, using every crudity she ever learned in her days in the seacraft over 200 turns ago.
And what a thing to wake up to! Sh'drian stirs slowly, eyes flicking open into the blackness of the weyr. Still a bit hazy on the details, he blinks and turns slightly toward the voice, smirking in the darkness as he puts things together and recognizes the voice, and, gradually as his eyes adjust, the face. "Good... evening? to you, too," he drawls eventually.
"It is NOT a good evening," Winter growls back, moving away from Sh'drian and taking one of the sheets with her to wrap around her body, regardless of the fact that he's seen everything she's got. "I was hoping for someone else to win," she states plainly and coldly.
"No, I don't suppose so," Sh'drian agrees. "Perhaps 'night' is the better term, although I thought that might sound a bit too much like a good-bye to be entirely appropriate." He pauses, watching Winter's efforts with the sheet with some amusement. "So did I," he admits. "What are you doing?"
Winter arches her brows when Sh'drian admits to wishing someone else won. "what does it look like I'm doing, genius?" she snaps, still very much ill-pleased.
Sh'drian regards Winter mildly, noting cynically, "It /looks/ like you're trying to cover yourself up; but you're apparently the genius here, so that can't be the case. You'd be smart enough to know it's a bit too late to be worrying about modesty by now." He smirks.
Winter gives Sh'drian a warning look. "I'm not worried about modesty. I'm more worried about a /bath/," she says in a low and very much unamused tone. "So. You're Weyrleader now. Congratulations," she says, and she even manages to keep over half of the sarcasm out of her tone. "On the other hand, that means I'm Weyrwoman. And that means you'd best learn how to act properly. You no longer have the luxury of screwing around and acting like you own the place."
"So I am..." Sh'drian says musingly, brows arching as that fact really hits home. He shakes his head slightly to clear it. "Why, thank you," he decides after a moment. "And... Actually, I think I /do/ own the place now. Who's going to stop me now? You?" His voice gains a note of derision on the last word.
Winter leans forward and her eyes glitter dangerously. "I. And Alaemyth. As senior, she can now tell Eadranth what to do, and he will listen, no matter what you say. We came to the future to help get these Weyrs into shape, to fight Thread as true dragonriders should. If you're not going to help me do that, then you can leave Ierne and never return. You're expendable."
"Eadranth might, but that doesn't mean I will," Sh'drian retorts to Winter, glaring at her. "And I never said I wouldn't do that. Don't lecture me on my duty. I'm not expendable, and you know it; no one is, not now."
Winter ignores the glare as if it didn't exist. "Running a Weyr isn't like running a Hold. You /don't/ own the place. And if you don't /lead/, then you will be replaced. Because I can't afford your ego on my hands. Weyrleading isn't like just snapping off orders and everyone does what you say. It means knowing what your people can and cannot do, and actually being a /good/ example to them so they will follow voluntarily, not because your dragon happened to fly mine. Chance made you Weyrleader. Learning to be a real man and some humility will make you a good one."
Sh'drian snorts skeptically at Winter's little speech, shaking his head. "I'll lead all right," he informs her arrogantly, that aforementioned ego already making its move. "I know what I'm doing. I'm a perfectly real man -- you should know that by now." He pauses for a brief leer, then continues, "People don't obey, not unless you make them fear what will happen if they don't."
Winter snorts right back at Sh'drian. "You obviously fell on your head as a child. You clearly didn't learn anything from when N'all flogged you. And to think I actually felt bad about that once," she says, getting out of bed and hunting for her clothes.
Sh'drian scowls. "I don't want your pity," he insists, sitting upright abruptly as Winter rises. "You think I didn't learn anything? I hated N'all, but I still obeyed, because I knew better. And I don't care if everyone in this sharding Weyr hates me; they'll still know better than to mess with me. /I'm/ the one in control here. Me." Rather childishly, he folds his arms over his chest petulantly.
Winter arches one brow. "You're not in control of anything, yourself included. All you do is think with your nether regions, if thinking one can call it. Don't you think you'll get a better reaction if you were actually a bit more of a team player? That is what we need, not a raving egomaniac who is one step away from being referred to the healers."
Sh'drian's expression darkens as Winter speaks the truth he can't see. "No," he tells her obstinately. "And I'm in complete control. I am!" Because saying it more loudly makes it true. "You don't know anything about me. I have plenty of control. And I'm not a... Well, the healer part is wrong, anyway." This last he adds sulkily.
Winter remains clearly unconvinced. "If I believe you're not mentally fit enough to lead this Weyr, I'll speak to Master... Ilyan, I believe his name is. And if he doesn't believe you're fit, I'll ground your butt faster than you can say 'Faranth!' I no longer have time or patience for your antics, Weyrleader."
In irritation, Sh'drian grates his teeth, gritting out a forcefully civil, if cold, reply. "As you wish, Weyrwoman. I assure you, however, my mental competence isn't the issue here." He stares at the woman before him a long moment, before gesturing toward the door and prompting her. "You got up. I believe you were in the process of leaving?"
Winter stares at Sh'drian pointed. "This is my weyr. You can leave." And she gestures to the wide gaping exit to the bowl. "Take your clothes with you."
Languidly, Sh'drian gets to his feet, noting sarcastically as he does so, "Aw, why? We were having such a nice conversation, too." A quick glance around later, he finds his clothes, and commences getting dressed just as slowly and deliberately, taking his time, probably just to be obnoxious.
Winter doesn't actually watch Sh'drian getting dressed. Instead, she's busy looking around the weyr with a sigh, as if sizing up to see if she'll like it as a permanent residence.
Sh'drian, finished donning his clothes, lingers a moment longer to watch Winter instead, his expression blank. Finally, he says simply, "Well, good night, then," and turns, heading toward the exit.
Winter gives a vague nod toward Sh'drian and then heads toward the bathing pool in the back.