==== February 14th, 2014
==== K'ane, Veresch, Muirnin, O'ell
==== Conflict in Igen's archives.

Who K'ane, Veresch, Muirnin, O'ell
What Conflict in the Archives.
When It is evening of the twenty-second day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Archives, Igen Weyr

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A grand room, lost to more pressing concerns, the Archives hold many treasures well past their prime, from instruments to examples of older flying gear and agenothree tanks. Faded and disused Records lean tiredly against their shelves, their bindings peeling and creating layers of dust on surfaces long left without maintenance. The floors are dirty, various footprints creating crisscrossing paths between rickety wooden chairs and drunkenly off-kilter tables. Columns rise upward to the ceiling, hung with glow-baskets scarcely tended and fast losing their strength. The hum of activity is duller, here in this forgotten space — few visit in search of historical facts.

In Igen, it is 8:48 PM. It is evening of the twenty-second day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass. It is the eighty-second day of Winter and 36 degrees. It is a clear night.

What to do in Igen when the weather turns cold? For a rider, awaiting the actual start of Pass after the heralded announcement less than a month ago… well, some drown in cups. K'ane's a different breed. He roams restless the halls of the caverns and haunts the hollows and niches of the slowly-restored archives. The bronzerider intently glares at a shelf, his glower unsettling: those who share space give him plenty of it, going down adjacent aisles rather than risk proximity.

It's all well and good for him, pacing back and forth like that, glaring like he'd like to spontaneously combust something. It's a bit more hell on everyone else out here that has to work, especially reluctant teenagers roped into cleaning because, as her mother put it, it was either this or have her mouth washed out for cursing in full view of everyone. "Urk," she mentions intelligently as she rounds a corner, coming face-to-face with a chest, with a face that looks as if she tried to wipe away the dust with it. "Sir."

K'ane briefly glances up at the rounding-of-the-corner, transfering his glare in full focus upon Veresch before checking the expression. "Girl." It's a reactive statement, issued forth in a deep baritone touched by the strange tones of Oldtimer vernacular, made stranger yet by a deep Paradisian accent. "Y'got a little sommat right," he gestures vaguely to indicate his entire face, "There."

Muirnin comes in on heavy steps, her day with the brattlings has worn her out, and she's about had it with little voices. A leather bound list in hand, she's come in to put away the updated list of weyr "spawn" and their birth dates into the archives. Brightening a bit when she sees Veresch, she then freezes when she sees the bronze in her face. Not sure if this has anyhting to do with the brat child form hell this morning, she holds her ground, book hugged to her chest protectively, and watches the two for a moment.

Although Veresch is able to weather Oldtimer cant - she's one herself - it's the Paradisian accent that trips her up, that and the glare, and the height, and… you know. All the rest of it. She hesitantly reaches up to touch one cheek, scrubbing and scrubbing as she tries to peek around for a reflective surface that is not K'ane's eyes, because that would be awkward. "Sorry?" she pipes up, edging back in fractions of an inch. "Um. Were you looking for something in particular, sir?" Help, Muir, help!

Seriously awkward. It wouldn't be the first time something strange has happened to K'ane, though. He furrows his brow momentarily and gives her a scrutinizing look. "Not anything you'd be like t' help me with," he replies in decent humour; his cornflower blues flicker over to Muirnin for a brief moment, before returning to Veresch. "Are y'helpin' out the archivist?" Maybe he's a little suspicious of a girl-child running around in the archives unsupervised.

Muirnin watches the scene, blue and bronze eyes dancing over his form. She should know him, as she knows Veresch, but man she's bad with names unless you're hip tall to her! She side steps and carefully puts the volume she was carrying back in its place before she slides up to Resch's side, shoulder's straight, trying to remember how to converse with adults after her day. It fails her, and short of spitting on a rag like she would for a 2 turn old, she takes out a kerchief from her pocket and tucks it into her friend's hand, trying to be all sly about it. She just shoots him a her most charming grin, and hopes it doesn't come off goofy, since she's been making faces at toddlers all day.

Veresch's mouth twists; it's somewhere between a frown and irritation when it settles. "Uh… provisionally, sir. For a little while." Until her mother has had enough of torturing her. "I was just getting some of the back corners and cleaning up. I didn't break anything." The inching had gotten to the stage where she takes a step back, trying to swing around to get out of general glaring radius, but there are elbows in the way, and then Muirnin and a rag and somehow, the next moment she's trying to dust her face with her elbow, and she's trying not to hyperventilate from sheer shame in front of Mr. Hot Voice. "ThanksMuirhelp," she manages to get out breathlessly.

O'ell walks in from the Administrative Corridor.

K'ane has a slight twist of puzzlement to vex his eyebrows together at Muirnin's actions, but he doesn't comment. A nod suffices for his greeting, gaze still generally focused upon Veresch and her forthwith explanation of her existence in hi.. er, Tey… er, Sadaiya's archives. "It's kinda hard t' break books," he comments mildly to the girl's response. Then concern shades his face and he takes a step forward, mitigating the distance Veresch created for herself: "Are y'okay there, lass?" His eyes do go to Muirnin at that point, a question within.

O'ell is here. He's so here. Physically anyway. But his brain is totally in the clouds somewhere when he first enters the archives. He's apparently heading right for the older riding gear and aged agenothree tanks. "Why is it always the stupid tanks. /Why/. Nobody knows how to actually fix the fucking things." Mutter. He's obviously trying to figure out the new, by studying the old… and, there are people here. "Evening." That's for everyone. K'ane gets an extra greeting grunt. Obviously.

Muirnin narrows her eyes a little. "I'm fine, Sir.. It's just been a long day taking care of the pipsqueaks of the Weyr. Can I ask.. does a certain little blond 7 turn old with curls belong to you?" she finally asks, her mind slipping away from diapers and dollies to remember who this man is. Ginger as she is, she flushes.. hell, breathing can make her blush up nicely, but the memory of this morning fills her with heat that surfaces and is probably mistaken for something else. Hearing other steps, she turns her head and cringes a little seeing the Weyrling Master, not really wanting too much of an audience for this, but she's not about to back down now that she's asked.

Veresch manages to right herself, cursing (not for the first time) the growth spurt that left her all limbs. "I'm…" The thought that Muirnin offers, the possibility of Hot Voice Guy being Aikari's dad is enough to see her freeze, cloth still scrubbing at her face. The motions slow, however, until they acquire a glacial slowness. Her eyes flick back and forth, and finally settles on O'ell, totally missing Muir's byplay of hormones because help. "I didn't do it!" she assures the poor man in high, panicked teen-tones, which he should be more familiar with. Precisely what she didn't do, of course, goes unmentioned.

K'ane does speak bro-code; he grunts back at O'ell in the exact shade of 'hey bro, I hate those fucking tanks too'. "Th' Smiths down at Southern ain't bad, if y'need a repair in a pinch." Thank God for oldtimer crafters, is what he's saying. But he's not saying it. "'Kari? She's more Lendai's 'n mine," he dismisses Muirnin's question, summoning the name of Southern's well-known-to-be-batshit-crazy senior weyrwoman with casual ease. He then provides Veresch with a Very Suspicious Opinion, because he can, and trades a look over the girls' heads with O'ell. There's another grunt.

Thank Faranth for those at the weyr who speak bro-code. The suggestion of the Southern Smith's is considered, briefly, before O'ell's eyes squint just a little in ackownledgement of what -isn't- said, before chin dips in a slight nod. If it means working tanks? He really doesn't care what time someone is from. He's practical like that. His forehead furrows a bit at Muirnin, eyebrow twitching in query towards his fellow bronzerider there. Like, 'why's she look like that??'' and to Veresch… frown. "Well y'better not have done it. Kids messing around with the tanks is just askin for trouble. You stay out of trouble, right?"

Muirnin feels her cheeks go redder, the temper of a good ginger ever a colorful thing. "Funny, she puts a lot of claim in you as her father, for you to be so dismissive.. Sir," she spits the last as if she has to force it out now. "Such a claim does she lay, in fact, that she takes your name as her personaly executioner. After dumping food on the floor in spite, calling others names, threatening to have your dragons ear people, or having others kicked out of the weyr on her behalf," she rattles off this morning's offenses, "her rebuttals to someone suggesting she not act so .. Vile.. was to say she was going to tell her DADDY on us." Her smile has gone sugary, that sweet 'no feathers left to ruffle' sort of smile you give when you're keeping the lid on the pressure cooker. "Then, as she took her leave of the living cavern, she stuck up both her middle fingers at the room, and departed. If this is .. your child, Sir .. or even the Gold rider's girl.. I would have expected better behavior from such breeding." she ends off her little rant. Then.. and only then.. does her chest fall a little, half a step taken back, as if she's expecting a swing taken at her. Nanny girl is not scared enough of his rank to not tell him when his kids being a horrid little monster, but she's not stupid either.

Wait, tanks? The thought is enough to uncoil Veresch a little from her flat panic over Aikari's supposed tattling, and there's a tremor of relaxation. Tanks. Of course. "Didn't touch them, si-.." That's when the Muirnin-bomb drops and her mouth gapes in horrified admiration, a sudden case of puppy-love and the desire to get away all at the same time. It's a very conflicting set of emotions. She deals with them by letting her arm drop, eyeing O'ell curiously—is he big enough to hide behind? Still, eventually bravery (and admiration) triumphs and she slivers forward, inserting her scrawny body slightly in front of Muirnin. "It was my fault," she mumbles. "I had the fight with, um, your daughter." The hellspawn. "Muir isn't to blame."

K'ane turns his attention on Muirnin fully, finally. "I'm sorry," he starts, his eyebrows raising slowly, "Who th' fuck do you think you are?" The bronzerider leans forwards, his deep voice gone quiet, his shoulders as square as his jaw. "Get out of th' way," he tersely clips at Veresch. "I ain't talkin' to you. Do you know what this goddamned knot means, child?" The last question is directed to Muirnin, and he gestures a calloused and scarred hand to his shoulder-knot with a scowl.

Welp, so much for a nice quiet few moments spend swearing about faulty tanks. Instead, O'ell now finds himself withnessing … this! "You, sit over there." He gestures to Veresch and then briefly at a chair, at a table, that is out of the way (don't' worry, still in hearing range). But then he clasps his hands in front of himself at a parade rest sort of posure while K'ane takes care of business. Not interfering.

Muirnin puts her hand on Veresch's shoulder. Yes, it's trembling a bit, but she gives the slighly younger girl a squeeze of reasureance and then lets it drop. With K'ane full in her face, her miss-matched eyes fix on his, not willing to cower. "Aye, I do, Sir. You're a Rider of Bronze, from Home even," she makes the distinction of old vs. new. "And I know the toil a rider goes through, the dangers and the sacrifices to keep us safe." Her tone is like a vow, utter respect in every word. "And my comments aren't directed at your valor or your honor, Sir. They're to tell you of Aikari's ways, her threats and rudeness, so that you may know how she uses you like a shield to bully others and behave as she wishes." She hopes he sees the difference, the weyrling master standing at attention to her side now making her feel good and well boxed in, trapped. Brave bordering on stupid, but she tucks her hands behind her so she stands half at attention, if for no other reason than to keep him from seeing them shake.

Veresch's legs obey O'ell's order, taking the girl to the chair with little conscious direction from her mind. She sinks down on the chair, hands going to clench on her knees, and listens. Well, and learns, K'ane's vocabulary seems promising. Still, her eyes are fixed on the little spectacle, thin face pale with fear for her friend.

Poor O'ell. "You'll use th' damn brain in your head," K'ane thrusts two fingers towards Muirnin's skull as if he could somehow forcemeld a mindset into her, "An' damn well respect a rider who puts his life on th' line. For you. You, th' nanny. She misrespects? Then fuckin' spank her. I was whipped up one side an' down th' other — y'ain't doin' her any goddamned favors by lettin' her pull a tantrum and then WALKING AWAY." He pulls back in disgust, staring down his nose at the girl for a long moment. "She's gonna end up just like her mother," comes the sudden, morose statement from the bronzerider, who — on that note — turns and walks out. It's kind of abrupt. Maybe he needs to go cry it out.

O'ell just stands there for a moment, the words slowly forming as K'ane is walking out. "And nobody wants that." For the girl to turn out just like her mother. He's heard STORIES. "Well, you heard the man. Now both of you get outta here too." He points at Veresch first. "You, keep away from the agenothree." Because even though she insists she's never been near it, he's not taking any chances. "And you… seriously. You already work in the nursery. Go report to the dragon infirmary to volunteer to wrap bandages or something. You'll be out of the way, and you'll still get a better taste of what it can be like for injured riders and dragons. Go on now. And if you ever talk like that to another rider, you're gonna wind up out on your ass faster then the sand gets everyone's shorts." There. He's done now.

Dhioth thinks to you, « I bespoke Jafyth with: Dhioth is just a depressed presence in the mindlink, a fortress of silence and dull, glum outlook. »

Muirnin blinks and flinches when he raises those fingers to point at her. Every punctuated words makes her eyes flinch, but to her surprise she manages not to step back away from him.. probably too rooted in place out of fear to do so. When he walks off, she closes her eyes, a studdering breath coming long and low from deep within. Her chin quivers, and she blinks her eyes open in a rapid fludder, fighting back the sting of tears. And if she would have smacked the child like she wanted to, the kid would have wailed like she was killing her and caused that much more of a scene and probably getting Muir in trouble anyway. Damned if she does, damned if she doesn't. What irks her though, is that he thought she was disrespecting him… it had nothing to do with him, it was about that terror-child! She lowers her chin after making sure tears wouldn't spill from her lashes, looking down as O'ell adds his own scolding to. "I .. didn't, it's not about .." she starts and then stops herself. Ah shard-it, she shakes her head and nods. "Yes, Sir," she says simply and then shoots Veresch a look of reassurance before she turns to go. Hey, bright side, she got premission to spank the imp when she needs to. Somehow all the air's taken out of that little victory with K'ane thinking she was attacking him.

Dhioth senses Jafyth is the immovable mountain; he's got this bro. Nobody gets away with shit around him!

Veresch's expression twitches as the diatribe flows over her. There's a moment when she breathes in to talk, before K'ane stalks out to have his cry. She inhales again, and the expression finally settles on blank as she gets to her feet. "Yes, sir," she says colourlessly as she wanders over to pick up her dusting rag and the hanky that Muirnin pressed on her. "C'mon, Muir." The nanny's reassuring look doesn't seem to help much.

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