==== September 20, 1013
==== Kultir, T'lvier (NPC)
==== T'lvier informs Kultir of his impending fatherhood but claims the child as his own. Angry Content.

Who Kultir, T'lvier (NPC)
What Baby Daddy!
When There is 1 turn 2 months and 6 days until the 12th pass.
Where Craft Complex, Southern Weyr

kultir2.jpg tlvier.jpg


Craft Complex
A large and roomy space, airy and light and ambiguous in purpose.

The noonday rays of Rukbat stream into the courtyard of the Crafting Complex, radiating off the pale stone buildings and courtyard to make it feel much hotter than it really is. Kultir is stripped to the waist once again and streaked with rivulets of sweat, hair plastered to his head but a small, contented smile curling his lips. He grunts with effort as he swings the large axe, splitting the wood half-round on the chopping block. He bends to scoop up another length and positions the axe for another swing, muscles of his back and arms flexing to bring the axehead down in an arch to split the hardwood log in half.

T’lvier is on a bit of a mission today that has him strolling arrogantly around the complex as though he owns the place. To those who know him well his beaming grin would be disturbing at best. But grin he does, the expression growing near jubilant when he spies Kultir hard at work. He checks the skies and glances ‘round hoping that a familiar green dragon won’t come poking around here anytime soon. He’d left Kalea a short while ago so that she could take a nap. She’ll find out eventually that he hadn’t kept his promise to leave Kultir out of ‘this’. But how could she expect him not to gloat? With this thought in mind he strolls up and leans against a wagon. “Ye seem t’be finding ways ta vent yer energy,” he says loudly between thunks of Kultir’s axe.

Kultir looks up at the sound of someone's voice penetrating the rather soporific rhythm he'd gotten into and that small contented smile completely disappears at the sight of T'lvier bearing down on him. The grin is noted and his frown deepens to a scowl, knowing that grin means that the man is here to try to make him angry about something. He sighs, his mood broken and places a new log on the chopping block … imagining the brownrider's face as he swings the axe with a bit more energy than he'd been using before. Maybe when the man is ignored he'll go away, but the boy isn't getting his hopes up anytime soon.

T’lvier watched the boy turn around and see him standing here. So he stands there for a while watching the teenager whack away at the wood blocks. He considers how to go about this to get the best effect and yet avoid having that axe used on his own skull. Now that is a tricky proposition. But not a challenge that T’lvier is about to back away from. “Aww,” he drawls out after a time of waiting, “yer not jus gonna leave me standing here an’ not congratulate me now are ye?” He crosses his arms over his chest and just waits. That grin of his giving no signs of going anywhere and neither does he.

Kultir sighs heavily as the man remains standing there and taunting him to get some kind of reaction. He drops the head of the axe to the ground and leans against it while his free hand hooks itself on his belt as he turns a wearily sullen expression on the brownrider. "An' why should I be congratulatin' ye for anyway?" he asks, belligerence dripping from his tone. This isn't the stance of a slightly frightened, sullen child the way he'd been the last time he'd encountered T'lvier. This is a stance of a man, young though he is, who is tired of being taunted and quite ready to hold his own should it become a physical confrontation. After a sevenday and more of chopping wood, he's more than capable of holding his own even against the older man.

T’lvier assesses the teenager when Kultir turns and leans against the axe handle. The kid appears to be filling out a tad and he looks none too worried. With a slight sigh the ‘rider shifts his stance and leans against the wagon a little further. Making it clear should anyone spy this little scene that T’lvier is no threat to the kid. A fight in broad daylight isn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for anyhow. “How kind o’ye ta ask,” he tells Kultir. “I’d be expectin’ ye ta be tellin’ me congratulations on account of I’m gonna be a daddy.” His lips quirk with mirth while he stands there waiting on the kid to ask him who the mama is. C’mon kid.. do it!

Kultir snorts at the man's comment and shakes his head as he bends to position one of the log halves on the chopping block and lifting the axe up for another swing. "An' why should tha' concern me?" he asks, tensing to swing the axe and send it thunking into the wood, splitting it down the center. He places the other half and takes another swing before he bothers to glance up at the other man. "Lemme know which poor woman ye knocked up so's I c'n offer my condolences. Maybe suggest she see a mindHealer while I'm at it." He positions a new log on the chopping block, ignoring the man again. He positions the axe for another swing.

T’lvier can’t help the guffaw of amusement that Kultir’s words elicit. The man is near giddy with this chance to knock this lad down another peg or six. “Now, now boy. Ye shouldn’t go speaking like that about Kalea. Ye know how riled she can get.” He forces himself to remain negligently leaning against the wagon. When all he really wants to do is dance a fair jig around the kid. “An’ givin her delicate condition I’d wager her temper’ll be shorter than normal.” A wishful thought is spared that the kid were facing him right now. He’d pay hefty marks to see the expression on Kultir’s face right about now.

Kultir was in the process of swinging the axe down to chop the log in half when the man drops that bombshell on him. His mind goes blank as a wave of cold sweeps through his body, causing him to lose his grip on the axe handle. The axe goes flying as the boy stumbles slightly off balance and catches himself against the chopping block. His head shakes in denial his voice soft and harsh as he mumbles, "No … no … she wouldn't … not him …" That cold wave is replaced by a wave of intense heat as he feels adrenaline begin to pump through him as he turns on T'lvier in anger. "You're lying … you fucking bastard … she'd never take you into her bed …" He takes a couple steps toward the brownrider before forcing himself to stop, clenching his fists tight to keep himself from beating the shit out of the man.

T’lvier watches the axe go flying off into the distance and stick itself deep into the dirt. He rather enjoys the kid’s reaction even from this angle. Watching him stumble to the wood block and holds himself up with it. When the boy storms toward him like he’s going to tear off a chunk of hide though, T’lvier pushes away from the wagon and widens his stance. He didn’t come here for a fight. But the kid isn’t about to get the drop on him either. “I do’na tell a lie,” he shakes his head and spreads his hands wide as though to prove the point. “She’s pregnant lad. An’ it isn’t as if she can name a candidate as th’ father now can she?” And so the petite dream had asked him to claim her child. Oh the irony of that!

Kultir's eyes narrow when T'lvier widens his stance and straightens slightly, forcing his hands to relax though they now clench on his belt as he stands there, spraddle-legged and glaring at the older man. When the brownrider explains further though, he straightens more and cocks his head quizzically as he contemplates what the man just said. He blinks, stunned as the words run through his mind. He frowns at the man for several minutes before he can make his voice work and finally asks, "It's … mine?" The question is asked quietly, one hand lifting to touch his own chest lightly.

T’lvier stands there and feels his joy drain away. He’d thought it would be great fun to mess with the kid. But now that he thinks about it, he finds that it isn’t quite as joyous an occasion as he’d hoped. When Kultir asks /him/ of all people if the baby is his, T’lvier would love nothing more than to strangle the teenager. “Naw o’course not,” he bites out sarcastically. “She beds down s’often wi’folk who /knows/ who tha kid belongs to!” He rolls his eyes skyward and prays for patience. “Who th’ hell else would it be kid? I mean seriously!”

A flush of emotion floods Kultir's body, everything ranging from anger to fear to joy to panic and everything shows on his face, unable to control anything at the moment. He frowns as he focuses back on the brownrider and asks, "But … you said you were going to be a father?" He turns to pace toward the chopping block, a much safer direction than toward the older man right now, thinking hard. He recalls the words T'lvier used in the announcement and his head snaps up as he slowly turns to glare at the brownrider again. "It's mine … but you're claiming it. Why?" The last word is snapped out, a multitude of questions in that one word.

T’lvier would think that the ‘why’ is rather obvious personally. But he heaves a deep sigh and reclines again against the side of the wagon. “Aye,” he agrees with a nod of his head, “I’ll be claimin’ th’ baby. In front o’th Weyr if’n they ask it o’me.” He lifts a large shoulder in a shrug and lets it drop back down as quickly as it had risen. “On account o’she asked me to.” That’s the simple fact behind it really. “She don’ want no uppity types takin’ yer chance ta Stand. So’s she’s invented a father.” He hooks a thumb into his chest, “Me.”

Kultir swallows hard as the man finishes answering his questions and pales again, nausea settling into the pit of his stomach. He glances away from the man and blinks back the burning of tears, jaw clenching as he nods slowly in acceptance of the necessity. "I … understand." he manages to croak hoarsely though it goes very much against the grain to be grateful to the brownrider that has been a thorn in his side since they first met. He squares his shoulders and exhales a steadying breath slowly before he turns and strides toward the older man. When he stands just within arms length, he searches the man's face, not having to look quite as far up any longer. After a few heartbeats he nods and holds his hand out toward his rival. "Thanks." he says, meaning it but not happy about it.

T'lvier feels a bit like an arse for having come at the kid like this. He really should have let Kalea figure something out. But at least now the kid knows, so she don't have to risk herself or the teenager by tellin' him herself. At least he hopes she'll see it that way. "Tis th' way it's gotta be." He watches the kid walk toward him and hold his hand out. It galls him deeply when Kultir actually thanks him. He isn't doing it for the kid, he's doing this for Kalea. Even still he reaches out and grips Kultir's hand for a hard shake. "Jus' so long as we understan' each other. I won't be havin' ye upsettin Kalea. She's obviously wantin' this baby somethin' awful ta go through th' trouble like this." He breaks off the handshake and stands up in preparation of leaving. "After all she coulda saved us all th' trouble with a couple short jumps between. Seems her Ryadranth won't take her though. Or so my brother tol' me."

Kultir meets T'lvier's grip with a strength of his own and nods. "Aye … An' I know ye ain't doin' it f'r me. Still … thanks f'r doin' it f'r her." he says, stepping back. His face reflects the feelings he's having though he doesn't allow himself the luxury of falling apart in front of this man. "I won't … upset her. I haven't even seen her … lately." He turns to retrieve his axe and focuses on cleaning the dirt from the head as he walks back toward a midway point between T'lvier and the chopping block. "Rya is a smart dragon …" He smiles slightly when the older man inadvertently tells him that Kalea has actually volunteered to go see the Healers about it all too.

“Aye. They make quite a lovely pair,” T’lvier says about Kalea and her Ryadranth. He figures silently if her dragon hadn’t been so sharding smart none of them would be in this situation. Nothing to be done for it now though. He’ll have to be /nice/ to this teenager if he’s going to keep Kalea happy. And keeping her happy is what he’s set his mind on doing. “I’ll be ‘round on occasion. Let ye know how she fares.” And he won’t care for the task /at all/. That said though he strolls back the way he’d come. Returning to his usual daily routine.

Kultir smiles slightly when T'lvier compliments both Kalea and her green and then nods to let the man know he'd heard that he'd be around. He swallows hard again as he returns to chopping wood. He doesn't know when the tears start joining the sweat rolling down his face but the hard lump in his chest dissolves eventually. A feeling of happiness starts to fill that void that had been ripped in his life when the Weyrwoman had forbidden contact with his beloved. He's going to be a father. Only one thing could make his life better at this moment … well, two things but … he'll concentrate on one of them for now.

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