LOG: Rape, Pillage, Fire
Date: Day 15, Month 10, Turn 26
Location: Beach, Tillek Hold
Synopsis: E'dre is skivving off on sweeps. Bad-mood K'del busts him back to weyrling.
It's late afternoon and the beach is less than ideal place to be: the sun is hiding now and again behind rolling clouds, the air is crisp with autumns touch, and there seems to be no one at the water's edge save for a brown dragon and his rider. From the straps that are being unbuckled from the brown, it appears the two are set to stay for a while. E'dre's goggles and helmet are already tucked to the side of a sack. Once the straps are removed, Wroth wanders further up the beach to dig up and root a place to rest. E'dre's got a fishing pole he's busy hooking, oblivious to any Holders that may pass them by.
Being autumn, it's also tithe season; by now, most of the tithes have rolled in to the weyr, tucked away safely for the long winter ahead. But that doesn't mean there's not still business to be conducted elsewhere - and there's no way E'dre and Wroth could have known that, for K'del, today's business would involve a visit to Tillek. They've flown straight, appearing as a tiny speck in the distance, high above the hold: a speck that grows bigger and bigger until a person glancing up might well recognise them; it's more coincidence than anything that has Cadejoth flying low over the beach, and then-- << Wroth? >> He sounds confused. << What are you doing here? >>
<< Fishing >> Wroth's initial answer is prompt, but the then adds by way of explanation. << It is good weather for it. >> As to what they should really be doing, the brown's attitude is more subdued than normal. E'dre doesn't initially notice the Weyrleader coming towards the beach, but at Wroth's prompt the brownrider looks up and shields his gaze against the slight sun-glare. "Shells," he mutters, looking back at Wroth, to his pole, then up again. "Shardin' figures.., we're in for it now." He doesn't scramble to pack up though, instead he remains seated on the beach with pole in hand.
No doubt the initial plan was to land in the courtyard and head straight in to see the Lady Edeline, but the plan has changed: Cadejoth lands on the beach, sending up a modest amount of sand-spray as he does, despite his best efforts. It's not in his nature to be coy: << You're /supposed/ to flying sweeps. >> There's a whip-crack to his voice, a metallic edge that shows restrained displeasure. K'del swings down, striding towards the brownrider without pausing to remove straps - or even his helmet, gloves, or jacket. His goggles, though, are strung over his arm as, without preamble he asks: "And if bandits had decided to rape and pillage some cothold somewhere, today? If fire broke out and burnt the fields? /Fishing/?" He doesn't sound pleased.
Wroth rises from his hollow, looking to the bronze as Cadejoth lands. His tone is straight-forward and he, at least, will not defend what they are doing. << I know. We did for a little while. Then he wanted to come here. >> E'dre does get up at the arrival of the Weyrleader. He doesn't flip a salute, but he does set the pole down. His hands are placed behind him as he falls into a casual V-stance with his legs. "I did half of my sweeps, and there were no issues. The weather here was nice and I figured I'd take a break before I finished," there's a note of defense to his tone, "there hasn't been any issues all sevenday and I've been patrolling the same area for turns. It doesn't take /long/."
<< You shouldn't have let him, >> says Cadejoth, with a twang of metal-upon-metal; he seems irritated, frustrated, full of pent-up energy for all that he and his rider probably flew straight a fair distance already. Regarding E'dre levelly, K'del finally pulls off his helmet, and then his gloves: one after another. "It takes exactly as long as it is supposed to take," he says, not irritated, but holding back actual anger: maybe something else is bothering him? Could it really be just about sweeps? "You don't get to 'take a break'. You don't get to decide when enough is enough. You get assigned to sweeps, and you /fly/ them. Do you WANT the holds to start resenting their tithes, because they never see a fucking rider, never see any benefit to it? Fuck."
<< No, I probably shouldn't have. But now I get to see him get yelled at, so really, I think it is just fine >> Wroth replies, almost shrugging in his tone. He is truly indifferent to the situation. E'dre, on the other hand, listens to the reprimand with a twitch to his lips and a slight narrowing of his eyes. "No, I don't think they will resent their tithes anymore than they already do. Since when did we have to go and become peacemakers? People who help rebuild walls? Lift fallen trees? It's /degrading/ and qutie frankly I am /sick/ of the whining that comes with doing sweeps. I see no harm in taking a break. But if it really bothers you /that/ 'fucking' much, I will go back to the babysitting job." Here, too, it seems that E'dre is out of character sharp and tense about the situation.
Okay: Cadejoth can't help it. He seems /utterly/ amused by Wroth's comment, sidenoting, despite that continued clank and jangle, << Sometimes it's kind of fun, isn't it? K'del yelling makes me feel powerful. Until he gets really angry, and then it's just awful. >> "We've always done that," says K'del, still hovering on the verge of actually yelling. "And yes, we'll keep doing it. More and more and more, if we have to. Because I'm not going to let this weyr starve because - given how fucking easy our lives are, these days - we couldn't be bothered to keep it up. You'll ride your sweeps, and you'll do them properly. And you'll stop at every cothold and offer them /every/ assistance, or, I swear, I'll bounce you back to weyrling until you remember yourself."
Wroth is all thunderous rumbling laugh as he rolls with E'dre's growing anger, sharing a snippet of it with Cadejoth. If the bronze wants to be amused, the brown will keep the humor going. << See? Now he is totally upset. I like it when he is upset. I usually have to yell at him to get him upset. Now the Weyrleader is doing it. Easier day for me. >> E'dre's hands tighten into fists behind his back and then he swings his arms forward to cross in front of him. There's a glower there, even if his tone of voice is controlled to a monotone answer. "Yes, because the only thing we can contribute to the weyr is riding out and doing mundane tasks. We can't possibly depend on ourselves to farm, raise herdbeast - or shardin' do any other craft to get by. You /still/ aren't making it entirely clear /what/ the problem is with taking a break. There's nothing shardin' in important a half hour can't be /spared/ so maybe I can /fish/ and HEY," now his tone is rising, "why don't I donate the food to the starving children of outlying cotholds? Wouldn't /that/ garner favor?"
<< Why do you enjoy it so much? >> Cadejoth wants to know; he, it may be said, backs up just slightly at the combination of laughter and anger-- maybe that's crossing the line, now, to a little /too/ much. "Want to find us some land to form? Be my guest. Want to prove that the weyr can support itself without tithes? I'm all ears. Been trying to work that one out for turns, and I'm sure as shit not getting anywhere." K'del ignores most of E'dre's answer, hiding his own balled up fists underneath the pile of gear he's carrying - probably for the best. "The problem with you taking a break is that I didn't tell you that you could. The problem is with you not following orders. And the /problem/ is that skiving off like that leaves the area unprotected. And all of that? Makes for one big problem. For you."
<< He is more himself when he is angry. When he is not annoyed or angry, he is too busy trying to be everyone's friend. Then he is not friend to himself. >> Wroth tries to explain and then drops it, leaving his thoughts to pool and then be gathered back. He'll keep anger and laughter in check now. E'dre shakes his head, "And isn't the area unprotected when I'm done? Time of day should not really matter. Isn't that why we split up shifts? Look, I'm tired of defending myself. I came here to fish. That's unacceptable. So what's my punishment? It's not like you can take much from me - I've been nothing more than a rider since graduating. Demote me back to being a weyrling," he adds, shaking his head, "what difference does it really make? I'll chop food up for Wroth instead of letting him eat himself?"
Cadejoth's response is a quiet thrum of thoughtfulness - a jangle, a rattle, a twitch. He can understand that. "When /you/ finish, someone else comes through. Shifts. One after another. So everyone stays safe." The rest of E'dre's words largely take the wind out of his sails: his mouth opens, but words, for a moment or two, fail to actually come out. "You're grounded, weyrling. Go home, move back into the barracks, and report to Meara. You and Wroth won't be leaving the weyr until /I/ think you've remembered yourself. I hope you enjoy mucking your own dragon's shit: until further notice, you have no more priviledges than the most junior of weyrlings." Cadejoth reaches out another tendril, then, just quietly: << Sorry. >>
It takes a moment for the punishment to really be settled in both Wroth and E'dre's mind. The brownrider, for his part, reaches down for his pole. He opens his mouth, half-tempted to phrase a retort. Instead, he slams his pole into the sand and gestures for Wroth to come and get his straps put back on. "Fine. If fishing is punishment enough for that, I can only imagine what a /real/ problem rider would be for you." It is a few angry tugs and pulls of straps before he's got them settled on Wroth. Wroth doesn't care much for an apology, but he accepts it and adds: << His anger got him and me in trouble. Not funny anymore. >> E'dre doesn't bother with a salute, a goodbye, or any other polite gesture of pattering with the Weyrleader. He's got his gear back on and Wroth is heading up into the sky and Between.
There's probably a lot more K'del would like to say, but he's beyond the point of being able to make thoughts turn into coherent collections of words. Instead, he watches the departing brown pair, taking deep breath after deep breath. Hopefully, by the time he actually makes it to the Hold, he'll be calm again. Hopefully.
Location: Beach, Tillek Hold
Synopsis: E'dre is skivving off on sweeps. Bad-mood K'del busts him back to weyrling.
It's late afternoon and the beach is less than ideal place to be: the sun is hiding now and again behind rolling clouds, the air is crisp with autumns touch, and there seems to be no one at the water's edge save for a brown dragon and his rider. From the straps that are being unbuckled from the brown, it appears the two are set to stay for a while. E'dre's goggles and helmet are already tucked to the side of a sack. Once the straps are removed, Wroth wanders further up the beach to dig up and root a place to rest. E'dre's got a fishing pole he's busy hooking, oblivious to any Holders that may pass them by.
Being autumn, it's also tithe season; by now, most of the tithes have rolled in to the weyr, tucked away safely for the long winter ahead. But that doesn't mean there's not still business to be conducted elsewhere - and there's no way E'dre and Wroth could have known that, for K'del, today's business would involve a visit to Tillek. They've flown straight, appearing as a tiny speck in the distance, high above the hold: a speck that grows bigger and bigger until a person glancing up might well recognise them; it's more coincidence than anything that has Cadejoth flying low over the beach, and then-- << Wroth? >> He sounds confused. << What are you doing here? >>
<< Fishing >> Wroth's initial answer is prompt, but the then adds by way of explanation. << It is good weather for it. >> As to what they should really be doing, the brown's attitude is more subdued than normal. E'dre doesn't initially notice the Weyrleader coming towards the beach, but at Wroth's prompt the brownrider looks up and shields his gaze against the slight sun-glare. "Shells," he mutters, looking back at Wroth, to his pole, then up again. "Shardin' figures.., we're in for it now." He doesn't scramble to pack up though, instead he remains seated on the beach with pole in hand.
No doubt the initial plan was to land in the courtyard and head straight in to see the Lady Edeline, but the plan has changed: Cadejoth lands on the beach, sending up a modest amount of sand-spray as he does, despite his best efforts. It's not in his nature to be coy: << You're /supposed/ to flying sweeps. >> There's a whip-crack to his voice, a metallic edge that shows restrained displeasure. K'del swings down, striding towards the brownrider without pausing to remove straps - or even his helmet, gloves, or jacket. His goggles, though, are strung over his arm as, without preamble he asks: "And if bandits had decided to rape and pillage some cothold somewhere, today? If fire broke out and burnt the fields? /Fishing/?" He doesn't sound pleased.
Wroth rises from his hollow, looking to the bronze as Cadejoth lands. His tone is straight-forward and he, at least, will not defend what they are doing. << I know. We did for a little while. Then he wanted to come here. >> E'dre does get up at the arrival of the Weyrleader. He doesn't flip a salute, but he does set the pole down. His hands are placed behind him as he falls into a casual V-stance with his legs. "I did half of my sweeps, and there were no issues. The weather here was nice and I figured I'd take a break before I finished," there's a note of defense to his tone, "there hasn't been any issues all sevenday and I've been patrolling the same area for turns. It doesn't take /long/."
<< You shouldn't have let him, >> says Cadejoth, with a twang of metal-upon-metal; he seems irritated, frustrated, full of pent-up energy for all that he and his rider probably flew straight a fair distance already. Regarding E'dre levelly, K'del finally pulls off his helmet, and then his gloves: one after another. "It takes exactly as long as it is supposed to take," he says, not irritated, but holding back actual anger: maybe something else is bothering him? Could it really be just about sweeps? "You don't get to 'take a break'. You don't get to decide when enough is enough. You get assigned to sweeps, and you /fly/ them. Do you WANT the holds to start resenting their tithes, because they never see a fucking rider, never see any benefit to it? Fuck."
<< No, I probably shouldn't have. But now I get to see him get yelled at, so really, I think it is just fine >> Wroth replies, almost shrugging in his tone. He is truly indifferent to the situation. E'dre, on the other hand, listens to the reprimand with a twitch to his lips and a slight narrowing of his eyes. "No, I don't think they will resent their tithes anymore than they already do. Since when did we have to go and become peacemakers? People who help rebuild walls? Lift fallen trees? It's /degrading/ and qutie frankly I am /sick/ of the whining that comes with doing sweeps. I see no harm in taking a break. But if it really bothers you /that/ 'fucking' much, I will go back to the babysitting job." Here, too, it seems that E'dre is out of character sharp and tense about the situation.
Okay: Cadejoth can't help it. He seems /utterly/ amused by Wroth's comment, sidenoting, despite that continued clank and jangle, << Sometimes it's kind of fun, isn't it? K'del yelling makes me feel powerful. Until he gets really angry, and then it's just awful. >> "We've always done that," says K'del, still hovering on the verge of actually yelling. "And yes, we'll keep doing it. More and more and more, if we have to. Because I'm not going to let this weyr starve because - given how fucking easy our lives are, these days - we couldn't be bothered to keep it up. You'll ride your sweeps, and you'll do them properly. And you'll stop at every cothold and offer them /every/ assistance, or, I swear, I'll bounce you back to weyrling until you remember yourself."
Wroth is all thunderous rumbling laugh as he rolls with E'dre's growing anger, sharing a snippet of it with Cadejoth. If the bronze wants to be amused, the brown will keep the humor going. << See? Now he is totally upset. I like it when he is upset. I usually have to yell at him to get him upset. Now the Weyrleader is doing it. Easier day for me. >> E'dre's hands tighten into fists behind his back and then he swings his arms forward to cross in front of him. There's a glower there, even if his tone of voice is controlled to a monotone answer. "Yes, because the only thing we can contribute to the weyr is riding out and doing mundane tasks. We can't possibly depend on ourselves to farm, raise herdbeast - or shardin' do any other craft to get by. You /still/ aren't making it entirely clear /what/ the problem is with taking a break. There's nothing shardin' in important a half hour can't be /spared/ so maybe I can /fish/ and HEY," now his tone is rising, "why don't I donate the food to the starving children of outlying cotholds? Wouldn't /that/ garner favor?"
<< Why do you enjoy it so much? >> Cadejoth wants to know; he, it may be said, backs up just slightly at the combination of laughter and anger-- maybe that's crossing the line, now, to a little /too/ much. "Want to find us some land to form? Be my guest. Want to prove that the weyr can support itself without tithes? I'm all ears. Been trying to work that one out for turns, and I'm sure as shit not getting anywhere." K'del ignores most of E'dre's answer, hiding his own balled up fists underneath the pile of gear he's carrying - probably for the best. "The problem with you taking a break is that I didn't tell you that you could. The problem is with you not following orders. And the /problem/ is that skiving off like that leaves the area unprotected. And all of that? Makes for one big problem. For you."
<< He is more himself when he is angry. When he is not annoyed or angry, he is too busy trying to be everyone's friend. Then he is not friend to himself. >> Wroth tries to explain and then drops it, leaving his thoughts to pool and then be gathered back. He'll keep anger and laughter in check now. E'dre shakes his head, "And isn't the area unprotected when I'm done? Time of day should not really matter. Isn't that why we split up shifts? Look, I'm tired of defending myself. I came here to fish. That's unacceptable. So what's my punishment? It's not like you can take much from me - I've been nothing more than a rider since graduating. Demote me back to being a weyrling," he adds, shaking his head, "what difference does it really make? I'll chop food up for Wroth instead of letting him eat himself?"
Cadejoth's response is a quiet thrum of thoughtfulness - a jangle, a rattle, a twitch. He can understand that. "When /you/ finish, someone else comes through. Shifts. One after another. So everyone stays safe." The rest of E'dre's words largely take the wind out of his sails: his mouth opens, but words, for a moment or two, fail to actually come out. "You're grounded, weyrling. Go home, move back into the barracks, and report to Meara. You and Wroth won't be leaving the weyr until /I/ think you've remembered yourself. I hope you enjoy mucking your own dragon's shit: until further notice, you have no more priviledges than the most junior of weyrlings." Cadejoth reaches out another tendril, then, just quietly: << Sorry. >>
It takes a moment for the punishment to really be settled in both Wroth and E'dre's mind. The brownrider, for his part, reaches down for his pole. He opens his mouth, half-tempted to phrase a retort. Instead, he slams his pole into the sand and gestures for Wroth to come and get his straps put back on. "Fine. If fishing is punishment enough for that, I can only imagine what a /real/ problem rider would be for you." It is a few angry tugs and pulls of straps before he's got them settled on Wroth. Wroth doesn't care much for an apology, but he accepts it and adds: << His anger got him and me in trouble. Not funny anymore. >> E'dre doesn't bother with a salute, a goodbye, or any other polite gesture of pattering with the Weyrleader. He's got his gear back on and Wroth is heading up into the sky and Between.
There's probably a lot more K'del would like to say, but he's beyond the point of being able to make thoughts turn into coherent collections of words. Instead, he watches the departing brown pair, taking deep breath after deep breath. Hopefully, by the time he actually makes it to the Hold, he'll be calm again. Hopefully.