More trouble in Paradise
Who: Aida and Br'ce
Where: Trellazoth's Ledge
When: Day 22, Month 7, Year 2 -- right after the Nabol Fall
What: Br'ce comes home, to supportive girlfriend. And then starts talking politics and finds out she's still mad at him. Uh oh.
Guess who's waiting? If one would be guessing that it would be Aida, a glass of wine, and a lap full of hides, it would be a correct guess. She's got her legs pulled up beneath her in the chair, curled up against the arm of it as she at least pretends to read. Her boots have been tossed a few feet away on the floor, her hair is down, and she's generally doing everything she can do to at least pretend that she's all relaxed. The frequent glances up towards the entrance to the weyr give /that/ away, of course. The tap tap tap of her fingers against her leg, too. And of course, finally, the fact that she's really not turning any pages. Just staring down at it. And liberally drinking from her glass, of course.
Flap, flap, scrabble. It's a dirty and utterly spent Trellazoth, hide dulled with sooty ash and reeking of firestone, that lands upon the ledge. Still, he holds his head up proudly, sparing Aida a rumble of greeting and a brief spread-winged pose as his rider gingerly dismounts. Straps are pulled off and left on the floor, while Trellazoth slithers himself off to his couch. The reason for Br'ce's sudden messiness is readily apparent--one leg of his pants is missing, and he's got a bloody bandage around his upper thigh. Limp, limp.
Yeah, given she's not really reading and is actually watching for Trell, Aida is on her feet very quickly. She doesn't knock what's in her lap to the floor, but does just toss it to the other chair, and her glass of wine gets set down on her way towards Br'ce. "You're /hurt/," she points out, concern and accusation and more concern wound together through her tone. "How bad is it? Is Trellazoth hurt?" There's a look that way, too, critical.
"Trellazoth is fine." Br'ce has to clear his throat of the ash and dust a time or two, and his voice still sounds hoarse from all the yelling he's had to do. "It's not too serious a wound. Just a light score. My carelessness, I'm afraid. I was too busy watching my riders, and not watching my own sky." He's still able to walk, albeit with a very pronounced limp, and a stoically enduring hint of a wince every time he puts weight on the leg. "If...I might have a hand, please?" he asks, summoning up a weak little smile.
His leg, the bandage, it's eyed. Oh, the temptation to tug at it and poke at it and check whoever's work that might be is so clear on her face for a moment, but between the relief at hearing it's not too serious and then that question, the temptation is suppressed and she darts in to try and slide herself under his shoulder, to help support. "No," Aida replies. "Lean on me, though. I won't tell anyone, honest. I'm glad it's not serious." And glad that Trell is okay, too, given the look she sends over towards the brown and his couch. Genuine relief, there.
:leans upon Aida, gladly. "It's quite all right. I think it's a good idea to show a leader's frailty. To remind people that their leaders are only human, after all. Plus it makes my riders more likely to admit that they have an injury and to seek proper care. I had to pull D'ven out of the 'Fall; he was scored on the arm." The words come out slightly slurred, as opposed to his normal precise diction--another sign of how tired he is. "It wasn't just us, though. We had extra help. From...a very unexpected direction. A wing of riders, who did not identify themselves. Led by a blue dragon."
Though she'd originally started him towards the chair, catching that slur in his voice has her shifting their course to head them for the bed. Aida's expression does spike with concern again for an instant at the notation of D'ven being scored as well, but it fades off quickly enough. "That's good," she says. "That's very good to hear, that others were there to help. I wonder which Weyr sent them." Deep breath, slow exhale. "You're exhausted, and wounded, and...I'm glad you made it home okay."
Br'ce shuffles along blithely to wherever Aida leads him. "Nono, it's not good. Well, it is good, we were able to save most of Nabol's leftover cropland. /And/ protect the people. Three wings, just about..." He shakes his head to clear it, attempting to sharpen his focus. "You don't understand. A number of light dragons, unknown, led by a /bluerider/." he insists, halting and attempting to disengage from Aida. "Flying in a strange formation, too, and completely unaware that we were going to be there as well. Let me ask you, do you think any riders from a particular /weyr/ would fly over Nabol? In such a way that they had not heard or suspected that we would be flying?" It's a peculiar emphasis he puts on the word 'weyr'.
She won't let go of him that easily; Aida clutches at him a bit more tightly, continuing to try and usher him towards the bed. Her grip shifts from 'attentive girlfriend' to 'pushy healer', though at least the second is as careful about his wounded leg as the first. "Less talking, more walking," she informs him. "You can tell me all about it once you're in bed. You needed riders. The crops were protected, the people were protected. I don't see any bad about it, no matter /who/ it was. I think you ought to not worry about speculating which /Weyr/ they were from. It doesn't matter." Emphasis of her own on Weyr.
Br'ce reluctantly acquiesces to being chivvied in the direction of bed, protesting. "But I'm going to get the sheets dirty like this. I should wash, and change, and replace the bandage..." The thought of lying in his clean sheets like this seems to give him renewed energy, making him stand straighter and place less of his weight on his injured right leg. "I know. I let them fly, I supported them, I didn't ask any questions. They flew backup to us, they were mostly lighter riders. And they lost a rider, a brown. Totally gone." He struggles with Aida, trying to divert to a chair instead. "You don't understand, though. They were the Instigators. The /Exiles/. They have some larger goal in mind. I want to know what that is."
Exhaling a huff of a sigh, Aida shifts their course and helps him over to a chair. Fine. It's clear by the tension in her shoulders that she's either not pleased with that, or not pleased with the conversation, or perhaps both. "Of course you do," she states, something peevish coming into her tone for all that she's still being gentle with him. "But unless you're considering flying to exile island to ask them, I suggest you just let it go, and..." Another huff. "I am not starting another political argument with you when we have not even finished the first one." Snippy, now, not just peevish.
"This one goes beyond simply J'cor and Nabol. What's done is done, now. I want to know their aim." Br'ce insists, collapsing into his chair. "There has to be some way of knowing. Somebody must know. The last time, they nearly brought down Pern. Someone must have passed them information about Nabol. They're clearly not as cut off from the outside world as we thought." He begins to gnaw absently on one knuckle, before halting and looking at his sweat and soot-begrimed hand with distaste. "Ugh. No. It's not an argument. ...Is it? Where do we disagree on?" He blinks a few times, furrowing his brows to look up at Aida.
"Drop it, that's what we disagree on," Aida states, voice touching just a little too sharp. Once he's down in the chair she spins away, shaking her head and pacing over to pick her glass back up so she can drink deeply from it. "Where do you think Reaches's missing queen is, Br'ce? It's the only thing that makes sense. Of course they've got information. You should let it be." Insistent, those last few words. Very, very insistent. "You had help during a Fall. You..." She bites the words off before they escape, bites her tongue on the anger. Sets her jaw. No. She will not fling insults.
"Looking a gift runner in the mouth? Perhaps." Br'ce props one elbow up on the arm of the chair, leaning his jaw on his chin, prodded into actually noticing Aida's attitude by the sudden sharpness in her voice. "I suspected as much. Which worries me, since Nenuith is due to rise sometime soon. I just hope Diya comes back in time to gain senior weyrwoman status here." The free hand taps a rhythmic tattoo on the chair arm. "I had help during a fall, and I am very grateful. Don't get me wrong. If you bring me face to face with J'lor right now, I would kiss him on both cheeks. But this is the first time anyone's really heard from them in quite a while. It bears thinking about."
Dead silence, from the young woman whose back is now to Br'ce. Absolute, complete dead silence. If she's even breathing, she's not doing so loudly enough that she can be heard, and she is now stiff from head to toe. Tense. Eventually, it breaks enough for her to breathe again, a heavy exhale followed by a swift inhale. "I am very angry with you right now," she states, voice perfectly well controlled. "But you are exhausted, and I do not know that it is best to discuss it right now. I am trying to be reasonable and I am trying to be fair but you are /not/ making it very easy on me." The last of her wine is drained.
Bewilderment. "What?" Br'ce looks baffled. Did anyone see what that was, whizzing over his head?
Movements are slow. Aida sets her glass down carefully, bringing a hand up to rub a finger along the bridge of her nose. "You heard me," she states quietly. Very, very quietly. "I am angry. I am trying not to yell and fight. Do you need my help getting cleaned up? If not, I'm going to bed. We'll talk tomorrow when I come back from working."
Br'ce looks up at her for a moment more, the puzzlement clear in his face. "Oh. Um. Right." Pause. "All right then. No, I should be fine on my own. Really." It appears that his brain has temporarily derailed, in the sudden reversal of directions. "I'll...okay." Right. Excuse him while he sits in the chair to try to recover his senses. And possibly just fall asleep in it, as well. It is a rather comfortable chair...
Chin tilted down, Aida does not offer any further words. She circles around -- first, out to Trell, long enough to see with her own two eyes that the brown is fine. For all that she's clearly simmering with anger, none of it gets directed at the dragon; he even gets the smile that his rider is denied, wan as it might be. And then silently, she slips back through the inner weyr and towards the curtained area, disappearing from sight without a word.
Where: Trellazoth's Ledge
When: Day 22, Month 7, Year 2 -- right after the Nabol Fall
What: Br'ce comes home, to supportive girlfriend. And then starts talking politics and finds out she's still mad at him. Uh oh.
Guess who's waiting? If one would be guessing that it would be Aida, a glass of wine, and a lap full of hides, it would be a correct guess. She's got her legs pulled up beneath her in the chair, curled up against the arm of it as she at least pretends to read. Her boots have been tossed a few feet away on the floor, her hair is down, and she's generally doing everything she can do to at least pretend that she's all relaxed. The frequent glances up towards the entrance to the weyr give /that/ away, of course. The tap tap tap of her fingers against her leg, too. And of course, finally, the fact that she's really not turning any pages. Just staring down at it. And liberally drinking from her glass, of course.
Flap, flap, scrabble. It's a dirty and utterly spent Trellazoth, hide dulled with sooty ash and reeking of firestone, that lands upon the ledge. Still, he holds his head up proudly, sparing Aida a rumble of greeting and a brief spread-winged pose as his rider gingerly dismounts. Straps are pulled off and left on the floor, while Trellazoth slithers himself off to his couch. The reason for Br'ce's sudden messiness is readily apparent--one leg of his pants is missing, and he's got a bloody bandage around his upper thigh. Limp, limp.
Yeah, given she's not really reading and is actually watching for Trell, Aida is on her feet very quickly. She doesn't knock what's in her lap to the floor, but does just toss it to the other chair, and her glass of wine gets set down on her way towards Br'ce. "You're /hurt/," she points out, concern and accusation and more concern wound together through her tone. "How bad is it? Is Trellazoth hurt?" There's a look that way, too, critical.
"Trellazoth is fine." Br'ce has to clear his throat of the ash and dust a time or two, and his voice still sounds hoarse from all the yelling he's had to do. "It's not too serious a wound. Just a light score. My carelessness, I'm afraid. I was too busy watching my riders, and not watching my own sky." He's still able to walk, albeit with a very pronounced limp, and a stoically enduring hint of a wince every time he puts weight on the leg. "If...I might have a hand, please?" he asks, summoning up a weak little smile.
His leg, the bandage, it's eyed. Oh, the temptation to tug at it and poke at it and check whoever's work that might be is so clear on her face for a moment, but between the relief at hearing it's not too serious and then that question, the temptation is suppressed and she darts in to try and slide herself under his shoulder, to help support. "No," Aida replies. "Lean on me, though. I won't tell anyone, honest. I'm glad it's not serious." And glad that Trell is okay, too, given the look she sends over towards the brown and his couch. Genuine relief, there.
:leans upon Aida, gladly. "It's quite all right. I think it's a good idea to show a leader's frailty. To remind people that their leaders are only human, after all. Plus it makes my riders more likely to admit that they have an injury and to seek proper care. I had to pull D'ven out of the 'Fall; he was scored on the arm." The words come out slightly slurred, as opposed to his normal precise diction--another sign of how tired he is. "It wasn't just us, though. We had extra help. From...a very unexpected direction. A wing of riders, who did not identify themselves. Led by a blue dragon."
Though she'd originally started him towards the chair, catching that slur in his voice has her shifting their course to head them for the bed. Aida's expression does spike with concern again for an instant at the notation of D'ven being scored as well, but it fades off quickly enough. "That's good," she says. "That's very good to hear, that others were there to help. I wonder which Weyr sent them." Deep breath, slow exhale. "You're exhausted, and wounded, and...I'm glad you made it home okay."
Br'ce shuffles along blithely to wherever Aida leads him. "Nono, it's not good. Well, it is good, we were able to save most of Nabol's leftover cropland. /And/ protect the people. Three wings, just about..." He shakes his head to clear it, attempting to sharpen his focus. "You don't understand. A number of light dragons, unknown, led by a /bluerider/." he insists, halting and attempting to disengage from Aida. "Flying in a strange formation, too, and completely unaware that we were going to be there as well. Let me ask you, do you think any riders from a particular /weyr/ would fly over Nabol? In such a way that they had not heard or suspected that we would be flying?" It's a peculiar emphasis he puts on the word 'weyr'.
She won't let go of him that easily; Aida clutches at him a bit more tightly, continuing to try and usher him towards the bed. Her grip shifts from 'attentive girlfriend' to 'pushy healer', though at least the second is as careful about his wounded leg as the first. "Less talking, more walking," she informs him. "You can tell me all about it once you're in bed. You needed riders. The crops were protected, the people were protected. I don't see any bad about it, no matter /who/ it was. I think you ought to not worry about speculating which /Weyr/ they were from. It doesn't matter." Emphasis of her own on Weyr.
Br'ce reluctantly acquiesces to being chivvied in the direction of bed, protesting. "But I'm going to get the sheets dirty like this. I should wash, and change, and replace the bandage..." The thought of lying in his clean sheets like this seems to give him renewed energy, making him stand straighter and place less of his weight on his injured right leg. "I know. I let them fly, I supported them, I didn't ask any questions. They flew backup to us, they were mostly lighter riders. And they lost a rider, a brown. Totally gone." He struggles with Aida, trying to divert to a chair instead. "You don't understand, though. They were the Instigators. The /Exiles/. They have some larger goal in mind. I want to know what that is."
Exhaling a huff of a sigh, Aida shifts their course and helps him over to a chair. Fine. It's clear by the tension in her shoulders that she's either not pleased with that, or not pleased with the conversation, or perhaps both. "Of course you do," she states, something peevish coming into her tone for all that she's still being gentle with him. "But unless you're considering flying to exile island to ask them, I suggest you just let it go, and..." Another huff. "I am not starting another political argument with you when we have not even finished the first one." Snippy, now, not just peevish.
"This one goes beyond simply J'cor and Nabol. What's done is done, now. I want to know their aim." Br'ce insists, collapsing into his chair. "There has to be some way of knowing. Somebody must know. The last time, they nearly brought down Pern. Someone must have passed them information about Nabol. They're clearly not as cut off from the outside world as we thought." He begins to gnaw absently on one knuckle, before halting and looking at his sweat and soot-begrimed hand with distaste. "Ugh. No. It's not an argument. ...Is it? Where do we disagree on?" He blinks a few times, furrowing his brows to look up at Aida.
"Drop it, that's what we disagree on," Aida states, voice touching just a little too sharp. Once he's down in the chair she spins away, shaking her head and pacing over to pick her glass back up so she can drink deeply from it. "Where do you think Reaches's missing queen is, Br'ce? It's the only thing that makes sense. Of course they've got information. You should let it be." Insistent, those last few words. Very, very insistent. "You had help during a Fall. You..." She bites the words off before they escape, bites her tongue on the anger. Sets her jaw. No. She will not fling insults.
"Looking a gift runner in the mouth? Perhaps." Br'ce props one elbow up on the arm of the chair, leaning his jaw on his chin, prodded into actually noticing Aida's attitude by the sudden sharpness in her voice. "I suspected as much. Which worries me, since Nenuith is due to rise sometime soon. I just hope Diya comes back in time to gain senior weyrwoman status here." The free hand taps a rhythmic tattoo on the chair arm. "I had help during a fall, and I am very grateful. Don't get me wrong. If you bring me face to face with J'lor right now, I would kiss him on both cheeks. But this is the first time anyone's really heard from them in quite a while. It bears thinking about."
Dead silence, from the young woman whose back is now to Br'ce. Absolute, complete dead silence. If she's even breathing, she's not doing so loudly enough that she can be heard, and she is now stiff from head to toe. Tense. Eventually, it breaks enough for her to breathe again, a heavy exhale followed by a swift inhale. "I am very angry with you right now," she states, voice perfectly well controlled. "But you are exhausted, and I do not know that it is best to discuss it right now. I am trying to be reasonable and I am trying to be fair but you are /not/ making it very easy on me." The last of her wine is drained.
Bewilderment. "What?" Br'ce looks baffled. Did anyone see what that was, whizzing over his head?
Movements are slow. Aida sets her glass down carefully, bringing a hand up to rub a finger along the bridge of her nose. "You heard me," she states quietly. Very, very quietly. "I am angry. I am trying not to yell and fight. Do you need my help getting cleaned up? If not, I'm going to bed. We'll talk tomorrow when I come back from working."
Br'ce looks up at her for a moment more, the puzzlement clear in his face. "Oh. Um. Right." Pause. "All right then. No, I should be fine on my own. Really." It appears that his brain has temporarily derailed, in the sudden reversal of directions. "I'll...okay." Right. Excuse him while he sits in the chair to try to recover his senses. And possibly just fall asleep in it, as well. It is a rather comfortable chair...
Chin tilted down, Aida does not offer any further words. She circles around -- first, out to Trell, long enough to see with her own two eyes that the brown is fine. For all that she's clearly simmering with anger, none of it gets directed at the dragon; he even gets the smile that his rider is denied, wan as it might be. And then silently, she slips back through the inner weyr and towards the curtained area, disappearing from sight without a word.