Another reunion. Not warm and fuzzy.
A'son runs into Tiriana. Or rather, she runs into him?
Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
A'son is reclined in one of those comfortable chairs by the fire. He's looking remarkably relaxed as he sips on a big mug of something. There's a letter out in front of him at the table, that he's currently not reading. He's sitting alone for now, as the Nighthearth actually seems to be quite empty and nearly silent. Except that there's a couple sitting in the corner conversing, but that's about all.
Sneaky sneaky. Tiriana slinks up toward the nighthearth, pauses just half-hidden behind the wall still to look and see who's there. Her eyes narrow when she sees A'son there in his chair--and looking relaxed, too. We can't have that! So, grandly, she steps out into the middle of the floor and announces, disdainfully, "I heard you were back."
Relaxed? Nah, we can't have that. His shoulders tense at the sound of Tiriana's voice. He turns in his chair, looking around until he catches sight of her. "I heard you were back too. And here." A pause as A'son looks her up and down. "What do you want?"
"Yeah, but I've been here for turns now," Tiriana points out. "And I'm the Weyrwoman. Everybody knows I'm here. It's not exactly news anymore." She stops her posturing in the doorway in favor of advancing on the pot of klah warming just by the fire. As she pours herself a mug, she glances back over her shoulder at A'son, offers a superior, "Me? I don't want anything from you. What do you want?" Like he's the one that tracked her down.
"Yes, you. You heard I was back. Why would you care if I'm back? I'm just a rider amongst a ton of other riders." A'son goes back to his mug, though he watches her over the rim. "I don't want anything from you. What sort of return question is that? Anyway, you went away, for a bit. Or so I heard, but now you're back." A pause. "Conviently on time."
"She sent me to Ierne. /Her/. Not my choice," Tiriana says, flushing as she rounds on A'son. Forget that klah: she didn't really want it anyway, and now it's left on the table by the pot as she glares at him. "And anyway, I don't hate /most/ random riders, so I don't care if they're here or not. Just a special few, you know. Like you." Because he couldn't figure that out on his own.
"Figured that." A'son rolls his shoulders, as if it doesn't really matter to him one way or the other. "Why do you hate me?" He asks, looking marginally interested. "Is it really worth your energy? It's not like I'm bothering you or anyone else. I'm just living, riding, and doing pretty much the same thing everyday. And I plan on doing that everyday until I die. Does that plan suit you?" Arch of the eyebrow.
"I don't know," Tiriana answers, truthfully enough. Her brows furrow together but she at least heads over to sit down in one of those overstuffed chairs near A'son, drink back in hand. "I just always have." Which sounds good enough to her, apparently, because she moves on quickly. "How soon are you playing on dying?"
"Twenty or thirty turns from now. I figure I'll stick around for awhile. Have some kids, maybe." A'son shrugs, "You always have. You barely know me. We've met maybe one or two times. If that?" He watches as she comes and sits near him, adjusting in his seat to continue talking. "So, you don't want anything?"
Tiriana lifts her brows. "You haven't yet?" she asks. But with just a snicker, she adds, "I know you well enough. You don't have to know people to hate them, after all. Besides, you're just... obnoxious. I swear, the only person I know who likes you's Milani, and even she started squalling the last time I mentioned you." Pause. "From you, or in general. Because, no."
A'son lifts his eyebrows. "At least someone likes me." He holds his hands up, appears to be trying to count his fingers and then closes them. "I was trying to remember who I could think of that likes you... I got to about zero and stopped attempting." There's a smile and he sips the rest of whatever's left in his mug. "Well, Weyrwoman. Since you don't need anything from this obnoxious bronzerider, I'll be leaving. Enjoy your solitude." Lazily he gets to his feet.
"You don't cry because you like somebody," Tiriana says. Duh. "And people do too like me. Milani and me get along, mostly. R'uen likes me. N'thei. Satiet even did." Her voice rises, agitated, especially when he starts to leave. "Don't you dare--you can't just walk--. What did you come back for, anyway?"
"Actually, they do. If you knew anything at all." A'son sounds tired, like a man who doesn't have time for this. "I'm not sure that any of those people really like. But that's besides the point, I don't concern myself with your personal life." He stretches his arms above his h ead. "Yes I can. I'm a grown man." Gesturing with one hand to the walls, "I'm was born here. I belong here. This is my home, I should have come back awhile ago. Not that this is any of your business."
Tiriana's eyes narrow. "Well, why now, then?" she retorts. "Why not before? You just, what, see an opening, think you can sweep in here and take over? Win Iovniath's flight, too, since you have oh-so-much experience leading a Weyr?"
A'son answers without a beat, "I would sooner kill myself then become your Weyrleader. Don't flatter yourself by thinking I came back so Nikoth could win /your/ dragon." He shakes his head. "My life is not open to speculation by you or anyone else." He looks her over again, this time with something close to disgust. "I repeat: kill myself."
Tiriana snorts, disbelieving. "Yeah, whatever. All you people--you and N'thei and the rest of you--acting like you'd just let yourselves go back to being nobody forever," she says with a shake of her own dark head. "Please. Go sulk in your weyr again already. Got any more furniture you can throw off into the middle of the bowl?"
"I like being nobody, I always liked being nobody. And I'm more than thrilled to be nobody again." A'son picks his empty mug up, "Just so you know, everyone is looking forward to this flight. Because they want to see just how badly we'll be fucked. When I go to sleep at night, I pray that you and your dragon make the right choice. That we don't get saddled with some loser." Pause. "No, but I could throw some of yours, perhaps?" He smiles then, suggestively, before turning his back on her and slipping quickly out to the entrance.
"You touch my stuff and I'll fuck you up!" Tiriana yells after A'son, desperately. "Just like I d id that other time," though that's muttered under her breath. And of course, we all know how well that time turned out, too.
Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
A'son is reclined in one of those comfortable chairs by the fire. He's looking remarkably relaxed as he sips on a big mug of something. There's a letter out in front of him at the table, that he's currently not reading. He's sitting alone for now, as the Nighthearth actually seems to be quite empty and nearly silent. Except that there's a couple sitting in the corner conversing, but that's about all.
Sneaky sneaky. Tiriana slinks up toward the nighthearth, pauses just half-hidden behind the wall still to look and see who's there. Her eyes narrow when she sees A'son there in his chair--and looking relaxed, too. We can't have that! So, grandly, she steps out into the middle of the floor and announces, disdainfully, "I heard you were back."
Relaxed? Nah, we can't have that. His shoulders tense at the sound of Tiriana's voice. He turns in his chair, looking around until he catches sight of her. "I heard you were back too. And here." A pause as A'son looks her up and down. "What do you want?"
"Yeah, but I've been here for turns now," Tiriana points out. "And I'm the Weyrwoman. Everybody knows I'm here. It's not exactly news anymore." She stops her posturing in the doorway in favor of advancing on the pot of klah warming just by the fire. As she pours herself a mug, she glances back over her shoulder at A'son, offers a superior, "Me? I don't want anything from you. What do you want?" Like he's the one that tracked her down.
"Yes, you. You heard I was back. Why would you care if I'm back? I'm just a rider amongst a ton of other riders." A'son goes back to his mug, though he watches her over the rim. "I don't want anything from you. What sort of return question is that? Anyway, you went away, for a bit. Or so I heard, but now you're back." A pause. "Conviently on time."
"She sent me to Ierne. /Her/. Not my choice," Tiriana says, flushing as she rounds on A'son. Forget that klah: she didn't really want it anyway, and now it's left on the table by the pot as she glares at him. "And anyway, I don't hate /most/ random riders, so I don't care if they're here or not. Just a special few, you know. Like you." Because he couldn't figure that out on his own.
"Figured that." A'son rolls his shoulders, as if it doesn't really matter to him one way or the other. "Why do you hate me?" He asks, looking marginally interested. "Is it really worth your energy? It's not like I'm bothering you or anyone else. I'm just living, riding, and doing pretty much the same thing everyday. And I plan on doing that everyday until I die. Does that plan suit you?" Arch of the eyebrow.
"I don't know," Tiriana answers, truthfully enough. Her brows furrow together but she at least heads over to sit down in one of those overstuffed chairs near A'son, drink back in hand. "I just always have." Which sounds good enough to her, apparently, because she moves on quickly. "How soon are you playing on dying?"
"Twenty or thirty turns from now. I figure I'll stick around for awhile. Have some kids, maybe." A'son shrugs, "You always have. You barely know me. We've met maybe one or two times. If that?" He watches as she comes and sits near him, adjusting in his seat to continue talking. "So, you don't want anything?"
Tiriana lifts her brows. "You haven't yet?" she asks. But with just a snicker, she adds, "I know you well enough. You don't have to know people to hate them, after all. Besides, you're just... obnoxious. I swear, the only person I know who likes you's Milani, and even she started squalling the last time I mentioned you." Pause. "From you, or in general. Because, no."
A'son lifts his eyebrows. "At least someone likes me." He holds his hands up, appears to be trying to count his fingers and then closes them. "I was trying to remember who I could think of that likes you... I got to about zero and stopped attempting." There's a smile and he sips the rest of whatever's left in his mug. "Well, Weyrwoman. Since you don't need anything from this obnoxious bronzerider, I'll be leaving. Enjoy your solitude." Lazily he gets to his feet.
"You don't cry because you like somebody," Tiriana says. Duh. "And people do too like me. Milani and me get along, mostly. R'uen likes me. N'thei. Satiet even did." Her voice rises, agitated, especially when he starts to leave. "Don't you dare--you can't just walk--. What did you come back for, anyway?"
"Actually, they do. If you knew anything at all." A'son sounds tired, like a man who doesn't have time for this. "I'm not sure that any of those people really like. But that's besides the point, I don't concern myself with your personal life." He stretches his arms above his h ead. "Yes I can. I'm a grown man." Gesturing with one hand to the walls, "I'm was born here. I belong here. This is my home, I should have come back awhile ago. Not that this is any of your business."
Tiriana's eyes narrow. "Well, why now, then?" she retorts. "Why not before? You just, what, see an opening, think you can sweep in here and take over? Win Iovniath's flight, too, since you have oh-so-much experience leading a Weyr?"
A'son answers without a beat, "I would sooner kill myself then become your Weyrleader. Don't flatter yourself by thinking I came back so Nikoth could win /your/ dragon." He shakes his head. "My life is not open to speculation by you or anyone else." He looks her over again, this time with something close to disgust. "I repeat: kill myself."
Tiriana snorts, disbelieving. "Yeah, whatever. All you people--you and N'thei and the rest of you--acting like you'd just let yourselves go back to being nobody forever," she says with a shake of her own dark head. "Please. Go sulk in your weyr again already. Got any more furniture you can throw off into the middle of the bowl?"
"I like being nobody, I always liked being nobody. And I'm more than thrilled to be nobody again." A'son picks his empty mug up, "Just so you know, everyone is looking forward to this flight. Because they want to see just how badly we'll be fucked. When I go to sleep at night, I pray that you and your dragon make the right choice. That we don't get saddled with some loser." Pause. "No, but I could throw some of yours, perhaps?" He smiles then, suggestively, before turning his back on her and slipping quickly out to the entrance.
"You touch my stuff and I'll fuck you up!" Tiriana yells after A'son, desperately. "Just like I d id that other time," though that's muttered under her breath. And of course, we all know how well that time turned out, too.