Get Knotted Brownrider


T'ryn.jpg Indira.jpg

Date: 2010.08.06
Location: Headwoman's Office
Synopsis: T'ryn takes a turn passed Indira's office to pick up his knot. She pushes buttons to find the measure of the brownrider.
Rating: PG13 - Language!
Logger: Indira

The day is cool, but fair which was a boon, given that someone has drawn up several long sweeps. Clad in his riding leathers, goggles up resing on the cap that the brown rider is pulling off once he finally makes it into Headwoman's Office. One gloved hand running through and mussin' through his locks, before he is clearin' his throat.

T'ryn does allow for a moment of peerin' about. This is one of the few places of this new Weyr that he has not yet explored, so he is going to take his time to enjoy it, shard it! However it is the chair hat catches the rider's attention-not the little one, but the one that contains….more stature? A tilt of his head as he makes his way to the 'throne' A low whistle from his lips. "Nice fuckin' chair.." said low to himself.

“Nice fucking ass,” Indira’s husky tone filters out as she steps through from private quarters to office, a smirk settled onto her mouth for the brownrider’s comment, “But it’s not going to be seeing my nice fucking chair.” If she’s surprised by his presence, she sure isn’t showing it. Brow arched high in vague amusement, she gestures toward the other chair, the little one, indicating –that- to be the one T’ryn make take up position on. Immaculately groomed, the headwoman moves toward –her- chair, giving a smooth “Brownrider?” in prompt for him to state his business.

T'ryn blinks as he straightens from chair inspection. A look back over his shoulder towards where Indira has emerged from. A nod given as his hand shoves the flight cap into his jacket pocket. Goggles and all. "Err..Thanks?" comes out in the twang of his before he is moving to take a seat. Chair pulled out, before the brownrider is taking the squat and leaning back. "T'ryn, Ma'am." he offers, as he reaches up a hand to scratch along the black inked lines under his eye. "I am a bit late, but I do recall needin' t' get my knot." a cough. "My apologies fer delinquency."

Amusement hovers about Indira’s mouth for having set the brownrider off balance with her comment. Setting down the mug of klah she’d brought out of her room with her, dark eyes survey T’ryn, catching to the tattooed lines and then slipping away again muttering quietly to herself as she does so, “Klanapan.” A stack of documents are drawn over and long fingers make quick work of rifling through them to draw one out and lay it before her. “Your knot, hmm? And which one would that be?” clearly toying with the brownrider for some or other reason. Perhaps due to his self confessed tardiness.

"Hmm?" T'ryn responds for a moment as if he caught something on the wind. However with a shrug he is dismissing it before he's bringing that hand back up deal with his messy hair-not that he usally entirely cares, but this is official Weyr business. "M' knot." T'ryn replied, before he is raising that brow. "Which one?" a pause-before he's clearing his throat. "Brown, Ma'am. I am clearly a brownrider. I don't got that spit n' polish like them bronze fellers." A slight bit of pride at that, but then it is gone after a glance over his shoulder. "Woulda come sooner, but I've been on extended sweeps. Me 'n Ockath."

Indira’s smirk tightens a fraction, “Aye, I know a brownrider when I see one, T’ryn.” Standing from her desk and keeping her movements contained the headwoman moves over to a crate from which she draws a box, and out of that, the knot of a brownrider. Moving over to where T’ryn is seated, the knot dangling from her fingers just out of his reach, “For suggesting to L’han that his green go Between.” Yes, she knows about that. Her words presented in a lowered tone usually indicative of suppressed anger. Swinging the knot in and out of his reach now, “Your Alara’s a good women, brownrider,” yes, she knows about that too, “It must have been a difficult decision for her to reach. I can’t say I would have been as forgiving.” Is she trying to rile him up on purpose, or simply let him know that his rumpled charm doesn’t work a jot on her?

T'ryn grunts "Wasn't fer tellin' him to go to between." And so the ex trader is about to ramble, but then this is his curse. Harper's tongue on this boy, but that's never ever sunk into his brain, nor has he ever tried to rectify it. "I got sweeps for handing him his ass after he didn't pay a lick to what advice I gave him. Basically stated said weyrwomen are picked by luck of gettin' fucked." A grunt. "So he didn't have to listen er respect em." A glance back to Indira- "I spect you are th' type of folk to not take it lightly if someone implied it of you-given what you did to that healer." And he's kissing his tooth. And so he is looking to the knot watching the swing before his fingers snag out to catch the knot. "Shoulda found a Wingsecond or leader. Not an already foolish an headstrong greener, to do that shit."

Dismissing the reason his extra sweeps wound up being for, “You told him, to go Between,” each word carefully annunciated, “You don’t joke or taunt about shit like that, brownrider. Ever lost someone close to you Between?” Indira’s mouth sets into a smirk tainted with cold edges as she bends down low, his knot being held out in one hand, her lips to his ear, “No darlin’, that’s how Weyrleaders get picked,” by luck of getting fucked. Dropping his knot into his lap, the headwoman moves away enough to take up a lean against the side of the desk where T’ryn sits, arms crossed in front of her as a low laugh spills out, “That little tunnelsnake of a man,” the healer, “Was in effect stealing from the Weyr. I merely introduced him to some quiet time with his thoughts. Weyrwoman Alara has since been apprised of the reasons and why and has had him dismissed from his post.” Dark eyes settle onto the brownrider, “You going to be my ‘rider to the rescue next time?” husky tone possibly perceived as mocking.

"Then you both need to clear out your sharding ears." he says looking back towards the headwoman. Eyes narrowing right there, as if something just had to get right into his craw. "I told him, if he thinks we are all here by chance, then he might as well go to the between, because we ain't got no fucking purpose." A shake of his head. Before he is just staring at you. "Are you a fucking idiot? Please, tell me- Cause Surely as I got a knot- I'm a rider. And I've seen someone in one way or another not come back.

When lips touch his ear he jerks his head back. "Don't do that." now his tone is getting worse for wear. You mention the healer, and he is shrugging after a moment. "yeah, that's bad shit- but if that's what he is doing then go find the Weyrleader or the Weyrwoman to help deal with that problem, because it affects us all. They should fucking know, afore you go and get some sharding guppy to do your dirty assed work for you." Not to say he doesn't agree that something needs to be done. "Headwoman." T'ryn starts. "I think you need a lot more than a rider to the rescue." He has his knot. He's rising up. "Don't get close up on me like that again."

All that T’ryn’s response earns him is a lowheld laugh of hollow quality as Indira glides back to her side of the desk. As she settles elegantly in her ‘throne’ long fingers gathering papers up together, the next comes in near bored tone, “Darlin’ brownrider, I don’t need lessons from you on Weyr decorum and sensibilities. I’ve been living them longer than you’ve likely been drawing breath.” As the brownrider stands as if to leave, laughter once again lifts up although this time it holds a more genuine edge of delight to it, “Sit your ass back down.” The directive given with amusement still lingering as a beautifully cut decanter on her desk is reached for and a tumble of amber liquid poured into it. Pushing the glass over to him, she settles back with a twist of amusement on her mouth, “Quite the jumpy one aren’t you? Which probably makes your Alara a good calming influence.” All the earlier tease and taunt gone as if she’d been testing the measure of the man and now sees him in approving light of having passed it.

T'ryn is quiet for a moment, but he's not sitting back down. He's though not heading off to the door as was his previous plan. Instead he's looking to the glass, and reaching out a hand to take the offered potable. "Thanks." as for him being jumpy the brownrider merely offers a laugh. "My mother said I was onery, but I think that comes from my father." a shrug and he is sniffing the drink before taking a swig. "She's good to me. One of my best friends-makes sense as to why things happened the way they did.

Dark eyes settle to the brownrider, watchful, waiting to see if he’ll leave in a high fluff of being bent out of shape, or if he’ll stay. Approval once again lifts up and settles into the shard of a smile Indira wears, “I’d say we had the same mother,” with them being about as ornery as each other, “if not that I think…I’d remember being a Klanapan.” Oooh sneaky! When T’ryn sniffs at the drink a small smirk appears, “It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re worried about.” Something about what the brownrider says of his weyrmate has the headwoman setting an unreadable look onto him and then with a slow inhale of breath, she finds it her duty to say the following, “You hurt that girl and I’ll personally see to it that you never walk straight again.” Protective of ‘her’ young goldriders much?

"Never have a plan to hurt a single hair on her head." T'ryn states, as he looks back to the headwoman before taking another sip. Licking his lips after closing his eyes, the brown rider barely shifts his weight. "If you were a Klanapan, your left eye would have a marking." Boys get the lines, girls get a circle by the left eye. It's how it goes. A nod though as he looks back to the drink. "So I think my walkin' days will be just fine." A nod there. "I gotta find some dressy tunic.." a change of topics? "Fer some holder's daughter's weddin.." No, he is not looking forward to that.

Indira eyes the brownrider a moment or two as if debating his word of intent toward his weyrmate and offers a small nod of satisfaction, “Good, because I hurt my toe the last time I had to do that.” Kick some sense into a man. She could be joking. Maybe not. T’ryn’s explanation on the markings of the Klanapan clan draws a short chuckle and quietly commented, “I know,” before moving on to the topic of dress clothes. “I heard something about that,” the headwoman sounding deliberately vague on the matter, however his need of appropriate clothing has her sitting up a little straighter and drawing forth one of those endless sheets of paper. “Would you like me to arrange a meeting with the Weyr’s weaver? She’s really very good. A little nervy but good at her craft.”

T'ryn takes another draught of the the amber liquid, before setting the glass back down on the desk before he is moving away from the desk. He needs to go and clean up before he does anything else today. A look over his shoulder, and there's a faint nod. "Sure, that'd be fine-either that or La'll be draggin' me somewhere." A grunt. Before he's looking to the knot in his other hand. "Thanks fer the knot, headwoman." pocketed, before he is heading out the door.

Light laughter once again, but this time to the goldrider dragging her reluctant weyrmate off to find appropriate dress clothing. “Clear skies, T’ryn,” her head dipping over her work before her, “And T’ryn,” without looking up, “the door’s always open.” Offer made should he ever need to just talk.

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