[Log] Real Diplomatic Missions
Who: Giremi, Tiriana
When: Day 31, Month 11, Turn 13
Where: Guest Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: Giremi confronts Tiriana about the incident with A'son.
Late afternoon returns Giremi to the small room he's sharing with Tiriana while they visit the Reaches. The two beds are squeezed into opposite corners of the room, likely shared quarters meant for some flavor of Crafter. There's a small hearth on the far wall with a few embers left to it but no flames and a glowbasket sitting on the table that barely fits between the door and one of the beds. The harper is sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on knees, head bowed, face pale but with the red blotches that speak of recent charged emotions.
Tiriana, out most of the day, makes her way back toward their room late that afternoon as well. When she enters, kicking the door closed behind her, she notices Giremi enough to offer a, "Hey," to him as she heads toward her own bed and belongings; but his appearance doesn't really seem to register for the moment.
Giremi looks up a little as the door opens and Tiriana does her customary slam thing with it. His fingers lace together tightly and he waits a moment until she's situated on her side of the room. "I heard something today Tiri. Something that ... well let's just say 'disappointing' doesn't even begin to cover it." His blue eyes lift then and fix steadily on the young woman, intense, the anger in them held back for now, but there's no doubting the harper is Not Pleased.
Still paying little mind, Tiriana bends down to rummage through her stock of clothes, which despite starting this trip in neatly folded order are not staying that way at all. "They're not talking to us or something now? Trying to make us go home?" she volunteers what she thinks he might have heard, her tone distracted.
"No Tiri. I heard you decked, or tried to deck a bronzerider." Giremi's tone is dangerously calm and he stands up to his full height, shoulders rolling back, arms hanging loosely at his sides. "And if that's true, not just gossip, I am seriously considering sending /you/ home."
Tiriana's shoulders stiffen but she stays where she is for the moment, her rifling ceasing in favor of studying her bag. "Yeah," she finally states flatly. "I hit him. He deserved it. The one that crashed our party--Carys's brother. That whole family's a bunch of asses just like yours."
Ignoring the dig at his family, Giremi draws nearer, standing just behind the girl, hands working at his sides. "I trusted you, Tiri, to be able to understand how important this trip was. Not to cause any disturbances that would upset an already delicate situation. What the /hell/ were you thinking? It doesn't /matter/ what A'son did or didn't /deserve/ it doesn't matter if he told your father's a porcine-faced bull-herder. You're an /envoy/ you don't attack your hosts!"
"He's not my host," Tiriana snaps back, looking around at Giremi then as she stands up herself. "Just some big dumb bastard of a bronzerider who got what was coming for him. It's not like I knocked out Satiet or something. And it's not like he even cared or anything anyway."
"I told you that you were not to hit or insult /anyone/ here. Just because he's not one of the Weyrleaders, does not make him any less your host. Every person in this Weyr holds that distinction and as an envoy of Telgar, it's up to you to /represent/ us. What A'son thought in the end is irrelevant. You took a swing at him, you don't deny it. You /screwed up/ Tiriana and that could come back to bite us in so many fucking ways it's not even funny." Giremi's face is starting to get high on color again. "If you can't promise me right here and now that you can keep your fists to yourself and your mouth polite, you're on the next dragon out of here. Not back to Telgar, but to Ierne. Let your father deal with you and see what he has to say. I'll bet for once, your daddy isn't going to back you up."
Tiriana's mouth curves into a sneer at that threat. "If you tell my daddy I punched some uppity bronzerider, he's going to come up here himself and kick the shit out of A'son and then you," she retorts. "It was one fight, the only person making a big deal out of it is you. And you're the one that should just be used to it."
"Faranth help me Tiriana, you /will/ listen to me on this." Giremi's face goes not red, but white, nostrils pinching, eyes deadly serious. "You are not a little kid anymore. You were trusted with something big here, something bigger than you or me or any one person in this whole mess. And you are /blowing/ it. This is about the welfare of not one but two Weyrs and /all of the people/ that those Weyrs defend from the stupid, sharding Thread that shouldn't even be falling right now." His voice hasn't risen in volume but there's that edge to it, deadly serious, cold almost. "Do you /really/ want to be responsible for unsettling things and possibly indirectly causing more deaths, because Telgar and the Reaches won't talk to each other and figure this stupid thing out?"
"If they want to sort this out," Tiriana answers, "then why the hell don't Gay and E'tyn, and Satiet and R'hin, and Crom--all the people who matter--why don't all them get together and talk it out themselves? Instead of sending me?" Her arms cross, posture defiant despite the lecture. "You don't let me go on /real/ diplomatic missions because I'm such a fuck-up at this, and anybody with sense can see it."
"I can't tell you why they haven't done that yet. I know the Masterharper is trying to make it happen. And y'know, that's the first sensible thing you've said about all this since we got here." Giremi runs a hand through his hair, the edge fading a little from his voice, then he sighs. "You're here because you wanted to be. Because you asked me and I vouched for you. Because I thought you could do better, thought you could handle it."
"Well, they let me." Tiriana's voice has a sulky edge to it now, her own anger barely constained below that. "And they know better because they're not stupid like you. R'dur, especially. Obviously /you're/ the only one with expectations I can't live up to."
"They trusted me to keep an eye on you and it's between me and them, that I failed." Giremi's chin lifts a little at that. "And why shouldn't you be able to live up to my expectations Tiri? Especially when you promised you wouldn't hit anyone and keep a check on your tongue while you were here? You don't usually break your word, whatever else anyone might say about you."
Tiriana's chin lifts, eyes still narrowed slightly as she glares at Giremi. "Because," she states flatly. "Because I just don't. I can't do anything else, I'm even worse at that. At least I hit good."
"You could do /plenty/ Tiri if you set your mind to it. When you make up your mind you want something, you're dogged at pursuing it. I don't know anyone more determined than you." Giremi makes a helpless gesture with one hand. "I don't know why the hell you think you're no good at anything. You could've been brilliant here, you could've. But you chose not to be." Pause. "Pack your bags. Unless you can convince me otherwise, you're going home."
"I'm not going." Apparently, that is the limits of Tiriana's persuasion abilities, though, as she just sets her mouth with that determination that Giremi speaks of and glowers at him. "I'm not."
"Yes, you are. If you can't keep your word, then as you said, you have no business being here." So saying, Giremi catches up her bag and tosses it on the bed. "Pack. Or don't. But you're going home." He's equally determined, eyes right on hers. He's not joking.
Tiriana makes no move to help Giremi as he grabs up her bag, her posture still stiff and defiant of his aims. She's silent several seconds while he throws her stuff around. Then, sneering, as she reaches to grab her own pack back from him, she snorts, "You give up fast. Because you know it, too, even if you don't like admitting it."
"This time? Yes. I'm giving up. Because it's too fucking important. You wanna stay? Go apologize to the Weyrwoman and promise you won't do it again. Show your respect for the Reaches, show her Telgar's /good will/ since you're so aware that this all needs to be worked out." Giremi straightens up, arms folded across his chest again. "Prove you've got what it takes to do this instead of making empty promises and then throwing everyone else's good name down the toilet with your behavior."
"Apologize? Apologize?" Tiriana says, hands curling as she takes one step forward toward Giremi. She doesn't hit /him/ at least. "Fine," she says a second later, through gritted teeth albeit. "I'll /apologize/. At least somebody /legitimate/ can throw me out then."
Giremi inclines his head slightly towards the door. "Shall we then? Or do you want a little while to cool down? Get a level head back on your shoulders?" He doesn't flinch when she takes that step towards him, he's too used to it.
"I'll do it myself," Tiriana retorts, stepping back and toward the door herself. "I don't need your help."
"I'm not offering help. I've an apology of my own to make." Giremi follows after her, leaning to prevent the door from opening, by laying one hand across the jamb. "I'm trusting you Tiri. Don't let me down again." That's said more intently, with a slight softening in his eyes, a return to his more customary earnestness, though his expression is still grim.
"Fuck you," Tiriana answers, even as she reaches to grab the doorknob herself, even if Giremi insists on blocking it from opening. "I don't need you apologizing for me, for bringing me, either."
"Gladly," replies Giremi flatly, arm pressing all the more firmly against the door. He stands there for a moment, leaning against the door still then takes a deep breath and lets it out. "All right. I trust you Tiri." His hand pulls back from the door frame and he looks down at her, then takes a half step back, both hands lifted up.
"Bastard," Tiriana retorts one last insult as she jerks the door open and stalks out, and moving to slam it back shut behind her, as always.