[Log] Candidates for Poisoning
Who: Ananta, Iosani, Tiriana
When: Day 14, Month 4, Turn 18
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana meets Iosani.
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
Contents:
Iosani
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
Tiriana
A leggy, slimly athletic build characterizes Tiriana's five-foot-nine frame, undeniably feminine even if she does lean more toward svelte than curvy. Strikingly pretty, she looks to be about twenty, with an air of brazen self-confidence in her straight posture and the often smirky tilt of full and pouty lips. Her nose is straight; cheekbones pronounced; eyes neither wholly blue nor green. Added to those features is a fair complexion which contrasts sharply with Tiriana's abundance of wavy ink-black hair, loose curls framing her face and reaching to her mid-back.
Though the demands of work keep her attire largely practical, Tiriana still favors well-made clothes and bright colors. Stripes of navy and a dusty lighter blue alternate across this cap-sleeved shirt. Made of light, soft fabric, it's long enough to cover her hips and the top of her charcoal gray pants. The clothes are quite nice, but still somewhat casual; the outfit is dressed up by the addition of an expensive-looking pendant. Hanging from a thin chain around Tiriana's neck is a silver circle of leaves, its pattern inlaid with onyx and pearl. She also wears a simple black onyx ring on one finger, and no knot.
Iosani
Iosani has the enormous brown eyes of an excitable lemur and an unruly mop of short black hair that, on a good day, resembles some kind of roadkill animal. It frames her pale, freckled face in a tufty halo. Her facial features can be described in a word as impish; she has a small upturned nose, a pointy chin, and delicate, mobile eyebrows. Her mouth is unconventionally wide, although, somehow, it doesn't detract from her overall appearance. Occasionally when she smiles she looks like a baby wherry anticipating a nice big meal.
She has no figure to speak of, even though she's already past puberty. Iosani's as skinny as a rail and has the assets of one--if it weren't for her short stature and girlish face, she could easily pass for a pre-adolescent boy. Perhaps this is explanation for her consistant tendency to wear a skirt, or even several skirts, worn in eye-searingly uncoordinated layers. Her old, worn dragonrider jacket is so inseparable from her person that it seems as if it might be physically part of her.
"Are you sure, ma'am? /Sure/? I mean, I really don't mind helping, I'm supposed to be making meself useful or something like that, my mum'd be really happy to hear that I was cleaning something and I wasn't dragged in. No? Really? You'll just put in a good word, then, yeah?" Three sentences come out in two seconds, and the woman who is gently but firmly escorting Iosani from the kitchen nods, just once. "I'll hold you to it," Iosani says with a grin, but she's released and that release is meant to be a dismissal, so the girl stands at the entryway awkwardly, rocking back and forth with her hands in her pockets, before skirting her way to make a sampling of just about everything on the buffet table, sans plate.
No plate? Fingers around the food table? A number of people elsewhere in line just kind of stare at Iosani, and more yet avert their eyes, not looking at her with obvious concentration. Tiriana, of course, falls into the former category, the one that stares openly at the younger girl. And, after shooting a quick glance at the other people in line, she sets her mouth and straightens, pausing in her own food gathering to glower at Iosani. "What /are/ you doing?" she demands.
Iosani is almost done with her very important test-taste of a selection of braised wherry when Tiriana comes to stand over her, and Iosani very quickly pops it into her mouth, chewing quickly and finding it very impossible to swallow before she actually responds with her trademark, "Me? I'm just...checking for poison." Chew chew chew, gulp-swallow. "The good news is, there's no sign of danger yet. The bad news...I've still got half a table."
"Checking for poison, that's real thoughtful," Tiriana says with a roll of her eyes. She's stopped entirely now, and most of the other people quickly go about their own business of lunch, avoiding the pair facing off now. "People are not poisoning the living caverns. There are too many people watching for one thing, and anyway, you couldn't make sure you got the guy you wanted."
Ananta heads in from the inner caverns.
Ananta has arrived.
Ananta
Quiet doesn't always mean quiet. This is true for Ananta, the lifetime Weyr resident. Her exterior demeanor has not always matched her true desires. Full of energy and passion, she's longed to be free from the many insecurities that have held her back.
For years she dressed in drab colors, afraid to stand out at the High Reaches. But as she grew older she discovered her love of color. And the attention it brings. So her clothing have reflected this change. Believing there's no such thing as an ugly hue. Ananta is adept at dressing simply with one bold splash reflecting her current mood. She also appreciates things that are handmade and so has a collection of jewlery made by friends. Wooden, shell, metal, glass. All with some unique detail.
Physically, she's striking but unaware. Due to the lack of parental praise, she has no confidence in her natural beauty. With time and the attention boys gave her, she started to understand the power her appearance gave her. Still, she needed constant reminders. Never really seeing herself as truly beautiful.
Her long light brown hair has grown straight down her back. She also wears it according to mood. Sometimes down and wild, sometimes tamed into place. Moving to her face, Ananta's eyes are her dominating feature. Large, almond shaped, and brown. Her eyes center her face. Round cheeks lead to a small chin and soft lips. Her nose seems to be the one rebellious feature of her face. Aquiline and prominent, it's an interesting counter note to her more pleasant features.
Her body follows her face. Parts beautiful and parts average. Her height being a little on the taller side. And her body being balanced between soft curves and a thin boyishness. Her upper body longer than her legs. And due to her love of sweets she's prone to gaining weight.
Ananta smiles. And then grins again.
"But true villians, they don't give a wherry /who/ they get, as long as they get thier mark." Iosani's huge-eyed during her delivery, nodding slowly, perhaps attempting to appear wise. At her age, it's not really convincing, but at least she's stopped pulling things off the buffet. "I know, because I once tried to be a villain. It's sharding /hard/ not getting caught, and being heartless, and taking out anyone who's in your way. Takes a lot of commitment, really."
"Yeah, but you won't get the mark," Tiriana points out with a firm nod of her own. "Because half the time the /important/ people don't even eat in here, and then it would just be a waste of time. You'd poison a lot of nobodies, people would catch on, and then you'd get caught before you had time to get the right person. So, it's dumb." She says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and she turns back to the food to scoop up a spoonful of mashed tubers for her own plate. Without looking over at Iosani this time, Tiriana adds, "Anyway, if you're going to 'test' everything--" you can just hear those air-quotes "--get a plate for it. Like a normal person."
Ananta slides up to the line for food as well. Standing on tiptoe to see over the woman's hair in front of her. Tubers, tubers and more tubers. Can't this place cook any other side? She grabs a plate anyway and reaches for a roll.
But 'important' is the eye of the beholder. Maybe they don't want to kill the weyrwomen or the weyrleader or the riders. Maybe the person who really frosts thier chaps is ...a servergirl, or one of the aunties." More of that nodding, but with Tiriana's retort comes a small faltering of Iosani's smile, and she purses her lips into a thoughtful expression before ambling away to fetch a plate, as she's told, and returns to plucking things off the assortment. Breadroll. Check. Meatroll. Check. Tubers, spinach, salad, and more of that delectable wherry, because even if it's poisoned it's apparently worth the risk. "Me hands were clean," Iosani points out after a long period of silence. "Just sayin'."
"There's no reason to kill those people," Tiriana protests still, though. She is not convinced. "And again, do you have any--any... grasp! Any grasp how many people there are here. It /still/ wouldn't work." And she lifts her chin, as though daring a protest to that. But seemingly equally confident there won't be one, she finishes filling her plate and then turns about towards the table. Two steps that way, though, and she looks back. "Frosts their chaps," she says, eyeing Iosani.
Overhearing "kill those people" perks Ana's ears up a little. A look to the food, a look to her plate, she connects the two. Poison? She reaches to tap the girl in front of her. "Excuse me?"
Ananta has disconnected.
Tiriana started it, so now it must be completed before they part ways. Hastily, Iosani throws whatever she can fit onto her plate - including two desserts; you can never be too careful when conspiracy's afoot - and she paces her way after Tiriana with a very serious expression. "I'm sure I do, but everyone has to eat every day! A really good villain would just.../watch/ and time it just right. What if it was the /kitchen staff/!?" she demands dramatically, her eyes narrowing down very slightly with what could very well be her first revelation on the subject. "I'm not saying there's even someone trying to kill people, anyways. I'm just saying you can never be too safe."
"And my point was use a damn plate," Tiriana notes. She glances back over her shoulder as she starts off for a table on her own again. "But everything else you said was so stupid I figured I owed it to you to point /that/ out, too." The plate thumps down at the first open spot Tiriana finds at a table, as the elder girl hooks the chair out and sits down.
Iosani is undeterred, and her own plate is set on the table across from Tiriana, invited or not. Her attention span has been ruined by such blatant meanness, and she slips into the chair with her leg curled under her, her brows brought down until they nearly meet above the bridge of her nose. She could be mad, but there's a distant sort of hurt to her movements as she pokes the contents of her plate. "You must just have lots of friends, if you're confident enough to be mean to total strangers. I didn't do nothing to you."
Lofty in her victory, Tiriana gives the meat on her plate a few fierce cuts and then stabs a piece of it. But with it halfway up to her mouth, she stops, staring at Iosani. Her own mouth tightens, and she finishes the motion quickly, taking the first bite. "I have enough friends, and anyway, I don't know why that matters. If you don't like what I say, why would I want you for a friend anyway?"
Iosani tears a piece of bread and toys it between her thumb and forefinger, still with that frown. "You don't have to be me friend. I didn't mean to say ...I don't like people who are mean, me mum says you're the company you keep, and /I'm/ not mean. I just think it's very presumptious of you to be so...nosy. And irritable. Not my friend - just, maybe...personable?" She shrugs, and her smile returns suddenly. "I do suppose it's probably just cause weyrlife is boring, and you're so grumpy all the time you probably don't have an imagination. And without one of those, things are even /worse/."
Tiriana eyes Iosani, and does not take another bite for the moment. "I'm a weyrwoman," she finally points out the obvious. "I can by nosy and presumptuous if I want to be. And you /are/ the one that followed me over here to continue the conversation." Pause. The woman leans back, lips pursing as she studies the girl opposite. "Just who do you think you are, anyway?"
"That's a shabby sharding excuse for being a b--" The sentence stops and Io very quickly fills her mouth with food to deter the coming insult; ignorance is one thing, but now that Tiriana's been so kind as to point it out, the girl is willing to at least acknowledge the need to step lightly. She chews, swallows, and points her fork at herself with a shrug. "Iosani," she supplies.
Of course, the near-insult just makes Tiriana's mouth curve into a smirk, and her meal half-forgotten in front of her, she leans forward, forearms folded on the table's edge. "For being a what?" she prompts, letting the introduction go for the moment.
"I don't think I need to say it," Iosani says, though her eyes light with indignant joy at the knowledge that someone is actually prompting her to, that her bad habit is being encouraged. "I'm sure you can leave it to your imagination." Pause. "Ma'am."
Tiriana shakes her head. "No, no. I don't /have/ any imagination, remember," points out the goldrider. "That's why I'm so dissatisfied with my life and everything." She's still smirking, not particularly pleasantly as she delays her meal to watch Iosani.
"That sounds like a personal problem," responds Iosani almost blandly. She's still smiling too, but it's completely different than Tiriana's; for one, hers still has a genuine mirth to it, despite the conversation. For another, she seems to be maintaining it without thinking about it, her own meal continuing at a slower pace as she speaks.
"If you're too much of a coward to actually /say/ it," says Tiriana, and she shrugs. Leaning back in her chair again, she takes up the fork to continue eating at length. "So just what is it you're supposed to do around here?"
With very little pride to speak of, it's mostly a good excuse ("The /weyrwoman/ told me to say it!") that has Iosani saying, "I was going to say that having a gold dragon is no excuse for being a bitch." She's tentative in continuing. "Usually I'm supposed to stay out of the way," she admits. "But!" she adds with renewed fervor, "I think they're going to let me hunt tunnel snakes with the boys, which is good because really, who wants to sit in the kitchen washing dishes and baking ...or checking for poison... when you could be hunting?"
Having it finally out in the air doesn't dampen Tiriana's mood, such as it is. She only looks more smugly self-satisfied, noting, "Yeah, well, I've never needed too much excuse to do what I want." The meal continues, as she makes relatively quick work of it once she actually begins in earnest. But tunnelsnakes? "Only fun if you do it without the cages or the drugged-up meat. You know, /real/ hunting."
"We'll see," Iosani says carefully. "I'm not exactly sure I'd like to get bitten, anyways. The infirmary sees me enough. Anyways, cages and meat shouldn't be considered hunting - it's trapping." She's still poking at bits - mostly the greens, the most likely candidates for poisoning, as it were - but seems to be mostly done with her meal. "I thought most of the important people didn't eat down here," she says with a raise of the eyebrows.
"Yeah. Try telling that to most of the cowards, though," points out Tiriana, sneering. "They're all, 'oooh, it might bite me, what if I get scratched, oh no!" She does a bad impresion of a scared hunter, high voice and hand-wringing and all. Normally, "Bunch of pathetic babies." Beat. Her eyes narrow as she's called out on the latter comment. "Sometimes I like to--to go associate with the normal people. Get the feel of the Weyr. Yeah." Nod nod.
"Well, that's part of the adventure, the bites and the scratches and the danger. And - those of us with imaginations, at least," insert here a meaningful look for Tiriana, and maybe one that's even slightly sympathetic for her imaginationless state, "realize that's really the best part of it all." Ah, is that so. Iosani's eyebrows don't immediately come down in thier skepticism, and she leans back in the chair, crossing her arms and looking amused. "...right. You come down to make sure the masses are complacent?" She grins wickedly. "If you were looking for normal, ma'am, you missed your mark something terrible."
With satisfaction, "Exactly." Tiriana nods, agreeing just this once with Iosani. As for the latter-- "Complacent, right. Which they are, because nobody's panicking over the poison that isn't there." Snort. She pushes her chair back then, after a last couple of prods at the bits left on her plate. And standing, she glances back to Iosani for a moment again. "Normal's boring too."
"Yes, but that's because they don't /know/," Iosani says conspiratorially, most likely because she figures she'll get one last jab in. "But when they start panicking, I recommend you're not down here to associate. Just a forewarning." She's nodding very seriously now, even though all indicators say Tiriana's leaving. "Best hole up now, really. Just in case. I've got to further investigate." With that, the girl's quick to rise and dart away, dropping her plate and whisking back into the kitchens from whence she came.
When: Day 14, Month 4, Turn 18
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana meets Iosani.
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
Contents:
Iosani
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
Tiriana
A leggy, slimly athletic build characterizes Tiriana's five-foot-nine frame, undeniably feminine even if she does lean more toward svelte than curvy. Strikingly pretty, she looks to be about twenty, with an air of brazen self-confidence in her straight posture and the often smirky tilt of full and pouty lips. Her nose is straight; cheekbones pronounced; eyes neither wholly blue nor green. Added to those features is a fair complexion which contrasts sharply with Tiriana's abundance of wavy ink-black hair, loose curls framing her face and reaching to her mid-back.
Though the demands of work keep her attire largely practical, Tiriana still favors well-made clothes and bright colors. Stripes of navy and a dusty lighter blue alternate across this cap-sleeved shirt. Made of light, soft fabric, it's long enough to cover her hips and the top of her charcoal gray pants. The clothes are quite nice, but still somewhat casual; the outfit is dressed up by the addition of an expensive-looking pendant. Hanging from a thin chain around Tiriana's neck is a silver circle of leaves, its pattern inlaid with onyx and pearl. She also wears a simple black onyx ring on one finger, and no knot.
Iosani
Iosani has the enormous brown eyes of an excitable lemur and an unruly mop of short black hair that, on a good day, resembles some kind of roadkill animal. It frames her pale, freckled face in a tufty halo. Her facial features can be described in a word as impish; she has a small upturned nose, a pointy chin, and delicate, mobile eyebrows. Her mouth is unconventionally wide, although, somehow, it doesn't detract from her overall appearance. Occasionally when she smiles she looks like a baby wherry anticipating a nice big meal.
She has no figure to speak of, even though she's already past puberty. Iosani's as skinny as a rail and has the assets of one--if it weren't for her short stature and girlish face, she could easily pass for a pre-adolescent boy. Perhaps this is explanation for her consistant tendency to wear a skirt, or even several skirts, worn in eye-searingly uncoordinated layers. Her old, worn dragonrider jacket is so inseparable from her person that it seems as if it might be physically part of her.
"Are you sure, ma'am? /Sure/? I mean, I really don't mind helping, I'm supposed to be making meself useful or something like that, my mum'd be really happy to hear that I was cleaning something and I wasn't dragged in. No? Really? You'll just put in a good word, then, yeah?" Three sentences come out in two seconds, and the woman who is gently but firmly escorting Iosani from the kitchen nods, just once. "I'll hold you to it," Iosani says with a grin, but she's released and that release is meant to be a dismissal, so the girl stands at the entryway awkwardly, rocking back and forth with her hands in her pockets, before skirting her way to make a sampling of just about everything on the buffet table, sans plate.
No plate? Fingers around the food table? A number of people elsewhere in line just kind of stare at Iosani, and more yet avert their eyes, not looking at her with obvious concentration. Tiriana, of course, falls into the former category, the one that stares openly at the younger girl. And, after shooting a quick glance at the other people in line, she sets her mouth and straightens, pausing in her own food gathering to glower at Iosani. "What /are/ you doing?" she demands.
Iosani is almost done with her very important test-taste of a selection of braised wherry when Tiriana comes to stand over her, and Iosani very quickly pops it into her mouth, chewing quickly and finding it very impossible to swallow before she actually responds with her trademark, "Me? I'm just...checking for poison." Chew chew chew, gulp-swallow. "The good news is, there's no sign of danger yet. The bad news...I've still got half a table."
"Checking for poison, that's real thoughtful," Tiriana says with a roll of her eyes. She's stopped entirely now, and most of the other people quickly go about their own business of lunch, avoiding the pair facing off now. "People are not poisoning the living caverns. There are too many people watching for one thing, and anyway, you couldn't make sure you got the guy you wanted."
Ananta heads in from the inner caverns.
Ananta has arrived.
Ananta
Quiet doesn't always mean quiet. This is true for Ananta, the lifetime Weyr resident. Her exterior demeanor has not always matched her true desires. Full of energy and passion, she's longed to be free from the many insecurities that have held her back.
For years she dressed in drab colors, afraid to stand out at the High Reaches. But as she grew older she discovered her love of color. And the attention it brings. So her clothing have reflected this change. Believing there's no such thing as an ugly hue. Ananta is adept at dressing simply with one bold splash reflecting her current mood. She also appreciates things that are handmade and so has a collection of jewlery made by friends. Wooden, shell, metal, glass. All with some unique detail.
Physically, she's striking but unaware. Due to the lack of parental praise, she has no confidence in her natural beauty. With time and the attention boys gave her, she started to understand the power her appearance gave her. Still, she needed constant reminders. Never really seeing herself as truly beautiful.
Her long light brown hair has grown straight down her back. She also wears it according to mood. Sometimes down and wild, sometimes tamed into place. Moving to her face, Ananta's eyes are her dominating feature. Large, almond shaped, and brown. Her eyes center her face. Round cheeks lead to a small chin and soft lips. Her nose seems to be the one rebellious feature of her face. Aquiline and prominent, it's an interesting counter note to her more pleasant features.
Her body follows her face. Parts beautiful and parts average. Her height being a little on the taller side. And her body being balanced between soft curves and a thin boyishness. Her upper body longer than her legs. And due to her love of sweets she's prone to gaining weight.
Ananta smiles. And then grins again.
"But true villians, they don't give a wherry /who/ they get, as long as they get thier mark." Iosani's huge-eyed during her delivery, nodding slowly, perhaps attempting to appear wise. At her age, it's not really convincing, but at least she's stopped pulling things off the buffet. "I know, because I once tried to be a villain. It's sharding /hard/ not getting caught, and being heartless, and taking out anyone who's in your way. Takes a lot of commitment, really."
"Yeah, but you won't get the mark," Tiriana points out with a firm nod of her own. "Because half the time the /important/ people don't even eat in here, and then it would just be a waste of time. You'd poison a lot of nobodies, people would catch on, and then you'd get caught before you had time to get the right person. So, it's dumb." She says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and she turns back to the food to scoop up a spoonful of mashed tubers for her own plate. Without looking over at Iosani this time, Tiriana adds, "Anyway, if you're going to 'test' everything--" you can just hear those air-quotes "--get a plate for it. Like a normal person."
Ananta slides up to the line for food as well. Standing on tiptoe to see over the woman's hair in front of her. Tubers, tubers and more tubers. Can't this place cook any other side? She grabs a plate anyway and reaches for a roll.
But 'important' is the eye of the beholder. Maybe they don't want to kill the weyrwomen or the weyrleader or the riders. Maybe the person who really frosts thier chaps is ...a servergirl, or one of the aunties." More of that nodding, but with Tiriana's retort comes a small faltering of Iosani's smile, and she purses her lips into a thoughtful expression before ambling away to fetch a plate, as she's told, and returns to plucking things off the assortment. Breadroll. Check. Meatroll. Check. Tubers, spinach, salad, and more of that delectable wherry, because even if it's poisoned it's apparently worth the risk. "Me hands were clean," Iosani points out after a long period of silence. "Just sayin'."
"There's no reason to kill those people," Tiriana protests still, though. She is not convinced. "And again, do you have any--any... grasp! Any grasp how many people there are here. It /still/ wouldn't work." And she lifts her chin, as though daring a protest to that. But seemingly equally confident there won't be one, she finishes filling her plate and then turns about towards the table. Two steps that way, though, and she looks back. "Frosts their chaps," she says, eyeing Iosani.
Overhearing "kill those people" perks Ana's ears up a little. A look to the food, a look to her plate, she connects the two. Poison? She reaches to tap the girl in front of her. "Excuse me?"
Ananta has disconnected.
Tiriana started it, so now it must be completed before they part ways. Hastily, Iosani throws whatever she can fit onto her plate - including two desserts; you can never be too careful when conspiracy's afoot - and she paces her way after Tiriana with a very serious expression. "I'm sure I do, but everyone has to eat every day! A really good villain would just.../watch/ and time it just right. What if it was the /kitchen staff/!?" she demands dramatically, her eyes narrowing down very slightly with what could very well be her first revelation on the subject. "I'm not saying there's even someone trying to kill people, anyways. I'm just saying you can never be too safe."
"And my point was use a damn plate," Tiriana notes. She glances back over her shoulder as she starts off for a table on her own again. "But everything else you said was so stupid I figured I owed it to you to point /that/ out, too." The plate thumps down at the first open spot Tiriana finds at a table, as the elder girl hooks the chair out and sits down.
Iosani is undeterred, and her own plate is set on the table across from Tiriana, invited or not. Her attention span has been ruined by such blatant meanness, and she slips into the chair with her leg curled under her, her brows brought down until they nearly meet above the bridge of her nose. She could be mad, but there's a distant sort of hurt to her movements as she pokes the contents of her plate. "You must just have lots of friends, if you're confident enough to be mean to total strangers. I didn't do nothing to you."
Lofty in her victory, Tiriana gives the meat on her plate a few fierce cuts and then stabs a piece of it. But with it halfway up to her mouth, she stops, staring at Iosani. Her own mouth tightens, and she finishes the motion quickly, taking the first bite. "I have enough friends, and anyway, I don't know why that matters. If you don't like what I say, why would I want you for a friend anyway?"
Iosani tears a piece of bread and toys it between her thumb and forefinger, still with that frown. "You don't have to be me friend. I didn't mean to say ...I don't like people who are mean, me mum says you're the company you keep, and /I'm/ not mean. I just think it's very presumptious of you to be so...nosy. And irritable. Not my friend - just, maybe...personable?" She shrugs, and her smile returns suddenly. "I do suppose it's probably just cause weyrlife is boring, and you're so grumpy all the time you probably don't have an imagination. And without one of those, things are even /worse/."
Tiriana eyes Iosani, and does not take another bite for the moment. "I'm a weyrwoman," she finally points out the obvious. "I can by nosy and presumptuous if I want to be. And you /are/ the one that followed me over here to continue the conversation." Pause. The woman leans back, lips pursing as she studies the girl opposite. "Just who do you think you are, anyway?"
"That's a shabby sharding excuse for being a b--" The sentence stops and Io very quickly fills her mouth with food to deter the coming insult; ignorance is one thing, but now that Tiriana's been so kind as to point it out, the girl is willing to at least acknowledge the need to step lightly. She chews, swallows, and points her fork at herself with a shrug. "Iosani," she supplies.
Of course, the near-insult just makes Tiriana's mouth curve into a smirk, and her meal half-forgotten in front of her, she leans forward, forearms folded on the table's edge. "For being a what?" she prompts, letting the introduction go for the moment.
"I don't think I need to say it," Iosani says, though her eyes light with indignant joy at the knowledge that someone is actually prompting her to, that her bad habit is being encouraged. "I'm sure you can leave it to your imagination." Pause. "Ma'am."
Tiriana shakes her head. "No, no. I don't /have/ any imagination, remember," points out the goldrider. "That's why I'm so dissatisfied with my life and everything." She's still smirking, not particularly pleasantly as she delays her meal to watch Iosani.
"That sounds like a personal problem," responds Iosani almost blandly. She's still smiling too, but it's completely different than Tiriana's; for one, hers still has a genuine mirth to it, despite the conversation. For another, she seems to be maintaining it without thinking about it, her own meal continuing at a slower pace as she speaks.
"If you're too much of a coward to actually /say/ it," says Tiriana, and she shrugs. Leaning back in her chair again, she takes up the fork to continue eating at length. "So just what is it you're supposed to do around here?"
With very little pride to speak of, it's mostly a good excuse ("The /weyrwoman/ told me to say it!") that has Iosani saying, "I was going to say that having a gold dragon is no excuse for being a bitch." She's tentative in continuing. "Usually I'm supposed to stay out of the way," she admits. "But!" she adds with renewed fervor, "I think they're going to let me hunt tunnel snakes with the boys, which is good because really, who wants to sit in the kitchen washing dishes and baking ...or checking for poison... when you could be hunting?"
Having it finally out in the air doesn't dampen Tiriana's mood, such as it is. She only looks more smugly self-satisfied, noting, "Yeah, well, I've never needed too much excuse to do what I want." The meal continues, as she makes relatively quick work of it once she actually begins in earnest. But tunnelsnakes? "Only fun if you do it without the cages or the drugged-up meat. You know, /real/ hunting."
"We'll see," Iosani says carefully. "I'm not exactly sure I'd like to get bitten, anyways. The infirmary sees me enough. Anyways, cages and meat shouldn't be considered hunting - it's trapping." She's still poking at bits - mostly the greens, the most likely candidates for poisoning, as it were - but seems to be mostly done with her meal. "I thought most of the important people didn't eat down here," she says with a raise of the eyebrows.
"Yeah. Try telling that to most of the cowards, though," points out Tiriana, sneering. "They're all, 'oooh, it might bite me, what if I get scratched, oh no!" She does a bad impresion of a scared hunter, high voice and hand-wringing and all. Normally, "Bunch of pathetic babies." Beat. Her eyes narrow as she's called out on the latter comment. "Sometimes I like to--to go associate with the normal people. Get the feel of the Weyr. Yeah." Nod nod.
"Well, that's part of the adventure, the bites and the scratches and the danger. And - those of us with imaginations, at least," insert here a meaningful look for Tiriana, and maybe one that's even slightly sympathetic for her imaginationless state, "realize that's really the best part of it all." Ah, is that so. Iosani's eyebrows don't immediately come down in thier skepticism, and she leans back in the chair, crossing her arms and looking amused. "...right. You come down to make sure the masses are complacent?" She grins wickedly. "If you were looking for normal, ma'am, you missed your mark something terrible."
With satisfaction, "Exactly." Tiriana nods, agreeing just this once with Iosani. As for the latter-- "Complacent, right. Which they are, because nobody's panicking over the poison that isn't there." Snort. She pushes her chair back then, after a last couple of prods at the bits left on her plate. And standing, she glances back to Iosani for a moment again. "Normal's boring too."
"Yes, but that's because they don't /know/," Iosani says conspiratorially, most likely because she figures she'll get one last jab in. "But when they start panicking, I recommend you're not down here to associate. Just a forewarning." She's nodding very seriously now, even though all indicators say Tiriana's leaving. "Best hole up now, really. Just in case. I've got to further investigate." With that, the girl's quick to rise and dart away, dropping her plate and whisking back into the kitchens from whence she came.