Doomtastic Spastic (T'kar)

[Cait]

"Crackdust and Hellfire! Back up. CEASE!" Dalonia stalked up behind the blundering buffoon with the practice sword and ripped it from his hands then smacked him upside the head with a gloved hand. The lad flinched and skittered away from his instructor no matter that he was of a same height and sturdily built. The lad's opponent swayed on his feet and struggled to keep his own sword in a guard position. With little effort, Dalonia pressed the blade with the one she'd confiscated until the tip hit the ground. The lad was a wiry sort and had taken a blow to the head from the larger boy. Even with dull blades there was blood trickling down the side of the boy's head. "Damnit all! You're dead now, you know that? If this was a real sword your brains would be scattered about the room; what little brains you have anyway."

"You and you." She pointed with the steady tip of the sword at two of the guard trainees. "Get him to the infirmary....now!" The boys lurched into action while the rest of the class--most of them had bonded to the hatchlings but some were merely candidates waiting for the next clutch--stared at the woman with wide eyes. It had been several months since training had started in earnest and they knew when to jump, when to shout and when to keep their mouths shut by now. For all that Dalonia wasn't particularly kind in her methods others had begun to notice the change in the wherlings and candidates under her tutelage. They were more alert, certainly more disciplined and they were about as respectful of weyr authority as their instructor wasn't.

"Alright, the rest of you; stop gaping, you've seen blood before. Clean your blades and then run to the first marked tree and back in full gear with your whers." Only one candidate grumbled about having to clean their blade and Dalonia turned on them, sword held in front of her. "Thank you for volunteering to run with Misk, she'll need a bit more exercise so you'll go to the second mark. Dalosk will go with you to make sure you don't get lost." Flipping the sword she caught it by the dull blade and offered it back to its owner and the wherlings and candidates dispersed.

Klutz peeled herself away from the wall and fluttered down, attempting to land on the woman's shoulder only to be shooed away. Once the brats had cleared out she sent a mental command to Dalosk who grumbled and rounded up his Citrine daughter before hunting down the candidate in question. Once she was alone, Dalonia began to pace; back and forth, back and forth. Before long one of her knives was out and she was twirling it in her hand until finally she let out a growl and hurled the knife where it lodged itself in the wooden head of one of the training dummies. She wasn't cut out for this. Most of her early training had been at the hands of her brothers and Barrek; she'd learned how to be hyper-aware and on guard out of necessity. This...children didn't know the first thing! The only ones she had any hope for were Lan and Ria.

Stalking over to the dummy, she wrenched her knife free and returned it to her belt before leaving the training cavern. As she stepped into the night one of the wherlings ran past her after their bond, shouting for them to slow down. Rolling her eyes, she turned towards the weyr and scowled. She'd had it! She was here to protect the darn weyr, to watch its walls and borders and keep anyone else from getting their pretty little throats opened. She wasn't here to babysit a bunch of spastic uncoordinated halfwits! Thief and Klutz swooped after her as she strode with purpose into the weyr. Her agitation only seemed to build with each step until she was finally at the door of the one rider who could--no...would--fix this. Even thinking of him made her want to strangle something but he was the one with the power so he would be the one she'd seek out in the wee hours of the morning well before the sun was due to rise.

Lifting a hand she curled it into a fist and pounded on the door several times. When no one answered, she pounded again. When a third time yielded no results, she cursed and turned. He would be in Rilora's bed no doubt. No matter, she was getting this whole thing sorted now. There was surely someone in the weyr better suited to training a bunch of mouth-breathing dimglows than her. She just wanted to get back to her regular duties and avoiding others as much as possible. Of course with the way a few of Dalosk's spawn followed him about she doubted she would get much peace; especially with that darn Citrine lurking about in her Crimson's den all the time. If she ever got her hands on that boy...she'd escort him to the infirmary herself. Dalonia growled as she stopped in front of the Weyrwoman's door and lifted her fist to bang on it.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

Ancalanath, like his rider, enjoyed studying the stars. It had been useful in the past, and it once more proved itself useful, because if there was one thing that Ancalanath knew, it was that T'kar would be even less happy if this was allowed to catch him in bed.

T'kar. T'kar, wake up.

T'kar cracked an eye. Huh, what's happenin' Ancalanath? he asked, raising his head slightly off the pillow.

WherHandler Dalonia is coming. She is very angry about something.

Ok, I'll... Wait! Here!? Now!?

T'kar didn't need Ancalanath's answer, he already knew what it was going to be, and he was Thread-fodder if he was going to have that woman come barging in here and interrupt Rilora's sleep.

Cautiously, T'kar slid out of bed, pausing to shift Bel so that he wouldn't wake the feline either. This, he growled silently, jerking his clothing into place, had better be more important to that woman than life itself.

He brushed his hair back from his face as he stalked over to the door and jerked it open, catching Dalonia with her hand halfway up to "knock".

"What do you want?" he asked coldly, stepping forwards and closing the door behind him.

[Cait]

Just as she was about to lay fist against door, the damn thing was wrenched open and Dalonia nearly slammed her fist into the Weyrleader's face; not that she would have felt particularly bad about it if she hadn't been able avert her hand. Sadly, she was able to drop it in time and skittered back a step as the man exited the room, crowding her in the process, and shut the door quietly behind him. It gave her a moment to take in his appearance; disgruntled and hastily dressed in rumpled clothing. Good, she'd woken him up. When he snapped at her, she scowled. The man couldn't talk without making her want to punch him.

"Why are you so cranky? Your Gold lady not putting out?" She hissed, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was well aware that she was picking a fight but she was beyond false reverence and the like; not that she would've messed around even if she were in a good mood. Her face remarkably placid it was her eyes that gave away the extent of her ire and agitation. "Well get over it because I have a problem and you get to fix it."

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

For a brief moment, T'kar almost hoped that Dalonia would actually hit him. He could feel the surge of anger, the heady rush of almost exaltation that had always warned him that he was far closer to the edge then he should be. He shoved it away, along with the surge of mixed pleasure and disappointment when she lowered the hand and stepped back. In fact, despite being crowded and pressed for space, T'kar almost had himself under enough control that he might be able to handle the situation. Then Dalonia opened her mouth.

T'kar's eyes flashed. For an instant, he felt like a passenger in his own head, and wondered, almost idly, what would happen if, just this once in his adult life, he actually unleashed his temper. He stopped himself from slapping her, by which thoughts he would never be able to recall.

"Are you constitutionally incapable of sticking to business?" T'kar inquired. His voice was actually cracking, something that hadn't happened since he'd been about 11 Turns old. He took a deep breath through his flared nostrils, then continued. "What is the problem, exactly? Ancalanath hasn't passed on any reports of disturbances." He left unsaid that he'd already told her to report disturbances, and he'd defined exactly what he meant by the word, both words, disturbance and report, too.

[Cait]

She could almost feel the anger and violence vibrating in the air between the two of them. She wanted it to happen. She needed to blow off some steam and having to herd a bunch of wherlings around most of the day didn't allow for much time away from what was aggravating her. Calm, solitary night watches were all but a thing of the past and if she went an entire night without some idiot trying to bust their head open with their own weapon in a grand display of clumsiness it was a miracle. With a rather depleted night watch, there weren't many people for her to spar with and she didn't exactly mix well with dragonriders.

When he growled at her, his voice cracking, she wrinkled her nose and curled her upper lip slightly. For a moment she was tempted to poke the man, enrage him further so that she could have her all out brawl. The man was bigger than her but she could hold her own. Even if she did get the crap beaten out of her, she would feel better afterwards. She usually did anyway. However, T'kar continued. Reports and disturbances? Oh she'd give him a few reports and disturbances. "For starters how about I report how disturbing it is to know that the future of this...pit, will be entrusted to a bunch of lackwit youths that can't tell one end of a sword from another. There isn't a one of them that can defend a surprise attack and I swear I send at least two of them to the infirmary every other day! I refuse to do this anymore. I didn't sign up for this, I didn't even want to come down here but he said--"

She stopped abruptly and let out a disgruntled huff. She'd almost said something that she shouldn't have. That's how worked up she was. She couldn't handle this anymore. The heat and the humidity and the rain and the mewling little whers and their handlers and the dragons and their riders. It was enough to make her want to go on a murderous rampage herself. Clenching her jaw she drew in a slow breath. "Find someone else to train them."

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

T’kar was torn in two, and not in a good way. Half of him wanted to scream at the WherHandler (while rending her limb from limb), while the other half of him wanted to start laughing. It wasn’t that the situation was funny, but the woman’s idea of a report… that was something that could definitely be considered amusing. Not funny really, but, still amusing.

“Gladly, if there were anyone else that could train them,” T’kar stated. “Have you considered that if they truly didn’t know one end of a blade from another, they wouldn’t be able to do each other any real damage?” he added caustically. He didn’t even try to appeal to any concern Dalonia might have for the Wherlings, but that was mostly because he was almost completely certain that she had no such feelings.

“The fact is, WherHandler, there is no one else who can train them. So as the senior WherHandler here, and the one whose Wher brought the eggs here, it is your job to train them.” T’kar paused for a moment, then continued (in a tone that made it clear he didn’t think she’d take him up on it) “If you’re worried about the number and nature of their injuries, I can arrange for you to have padded practice weapons and armor.”

He took a another breath, then added, his voice now icy cold: "And while you're here... who told you to come here?"

[Cait]

To say that she often had an infuriating affect on people was an accurate statement. For the most part, Dalonia didn't try to be infuriating and impossible; it was simply a product of her upbringing. She behaved as if everyone was out to get her because where she came from, everyone she knew essentially was. She'd never explain that to anyone, least of all T'kar so he'd just have to deal with the product of a less than warm and fuzzy upbringing.

"Oh, they manage quite well!" Dalonia snapped. Oh did they ever manage to do themselves harm, some more than they did others harm. She really didn't know how she'd ended up like this. Tiberax and Barrek had sent her down here to keep an eye on the weyr after that damned headwoman had gotten herself slaughtered like a herdbeast and now...now she was babysitting a bunch of brats and their whers trying to teach them how to survive in a world where there were threats everywhere. It was an impossible task!

"Well find someone! You have how many people for your stupid little dragon rodeo? I need--" her mouth closed on that word that meant complete and utter weakness. Never ask for help. Find a way! It was a cruel voice in her head and she growled again. Spinning away from T'kar she began to pace in the corridor. Padded weapons and armor? She let out an overly loud bark of laughter and shook her head, muttering under her breath. "Padded armor...I didn't even have armor! And padded weapons? I was lucky if they had a dull edge."

When he spoke again she paused in her pacing and turned to look at the man then raised a single dark brow and sneered. "The voices in the forest."

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

T’kar didn’t know which thought was more tempting. To bang his head against the wall slowly and repeatedly, or to grab Dalonia’s shoulders and shake vigorously. He was, by this point, certain that there was, somewhere within the woman, a truly competent WherHandler who was good at her job and cared, at least a little bit. After all, she’d gone running into that fiasco of a flitt Hatching right on his heels, and, once there, placed herself where she could best protect the Weyrling, Rekkora. That was not the action of an indifferent and uncaring guard. However, there seemed to be a law of nature which dictated that Dalonia was incapable of remaining that way while in his presence.

“Then why didn’t you ask for some when you started them on weapons?” T’kar asked. He chose to ignore her comment about the “voices in the forest”, and sounded almost civil, except for the exasperation.

“And yes, I am aware of how many people have dragons here,” T’kar added. “Although I’m not sure what point you’re making, since none of them are qualified to teach your Wherlings everything they need to know. Unless, were you about to say you needed help with the combat training?”

[Cait]

Dalonia clenched her jaw, her hands balling into fists at her side as she stood facing the Weyrleader. She couldn't stop the words that tumbled from her lips. "I don't need help!"

Wincing, she growled and closed her eyes, drawing in a slow, deep breath. She couldn't do it. She couldn't admit she needed help even if she was about ready to pull her hair out from trying to keep a handful of brats and their whers from getting slaughtered like that darn headwoman. Shaking her head she hissed and opened her eyes. "Nevermind. Go back to your bed. I don't know why I thought you'd give a darn."

Turning on a booted heel, she started off, more agitated than when she'd arrived though for very different reasons now. She couldn't admit to weakness, especially not to this damned arrogant rider. He would laugh and be cruel like her brothers always did. No, she wouldn't say she needed help. She'd find a way...if she didn't bash her own head in first.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

T’kar almost stepped back at the vehemence of Dalonia’s reply. Perhaps it shouldn’t have startled him, and on a certain level it didn’t, but at the same time, why had she come storming up here if she wasn’t ready to admit that she needed help?

I should have seen this coming, T’kar sighed, as Dalonia stormed off. There really are too many Wherlings for them to get all their training from one hand. Not to mention that it’s better to have multiple teachers anyway.

“Dalonia, wait!” he snapped, taking two quick strides after her. “Have them take the rest of the night off combat practice. I’ll have the padded stuff sent over during the day tomorrow, and see what I can do about extra instructors.” He really would rather have bitten out his own tongue than admit it, but Dalonia had a point about the amount of work that had to be put into training the effective guards (like training effective dragonriders) and he should have seen about extra instructors already.

“What weapons are you most familiar with?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound civil by reminding himself of the fact that she had run to the assistance of Abyss Sunvoiath’s rider during the fiasco flitt hatching roughly three months ago.

[Cait]

Dalonia took one more step and then stopped, hands still clenched at her sides. She didn't turn around though, simply stood there, half blending into the shadows cast by the glows near the door. She kept her breathing steady; breathe in, breathe out and repeat. As T'kar spoke she listened and was glad she hadn't turned around. Confusion took over her features for a brief moment before she scowled again. She wasn't used to people offering help without either mocking her for needing it or making her break down and beg for it. She'd been under the thumbs of her brothers and Barrek for so long that she didn't know there was another way. How was she supposed to react? The paranoid voice in her head was insistent that this was some sort of trap; that he'd dangle help in front of her and then jerk it away when she reached for it.
She hissed softly and turned around, expression wary and scowl firmly in place.

"Knives, daggers and improvised weapons." Short and to the point. Three sets of small glowing eyes blinked from the shadows, her little horde clinging to the walls and lintels of doors. Knowing only the gruff, vengeful, hard side of T'kar it was hard to believe that he'd just hand her something like this. Then again if it benefited the weyr...but there again, she wasn't used to people who did things for the greater good. It was such a foreign concept to her that she didn't even realize she was beginning to display that trait. Running herself into the ground so that a group of wherlings might live to spawn the next generation. Running to the defense of a young queenrider despite her borderline hatred of all dragonriders. Seeing to the safety and training of one deformed and rejected little Citrine so that she wouldn't be slaughtered. "If you're messing with me..."

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

T’kar forced himself to ignore that Dalonia didn’t turn around until he was finished speaking. Likewise the soft hiss, though that only by gripping the hilt of his belt knife far, far harder than he really ought to. Then Dalonia turned was facing him and he had to suppress an urge to sigh. It always seemed to go like this. Seeming progress would be made, then the whole would relapse back to the beginning again.

As if determined to prove the observation true, Dalonia immediately started trying intimidation tactics on him as if she thought he wasn’t telling the truth about what he’d arrange for.

“Dalonia, just cool it,” T’kar said as calmly as he could manage. “I am not messing with you. Tomorrow night the practice equipment will be where it needs to be. As will the additional instructors, although you have final say over what the Wherlings learn, the others will only be there to provide more expertise with other weapons.”

T’kar turned and stepped back to Rilora’s door. “Now, if that’s all, I’ll see you tomorrow evening when I check on the equipment. Goodnight.”

T’kar opened the door and stepped inside, closing it firmly (but quietly) behind him.

You shouldn’t do it. She isn’t safe.

Precisely why I have to be there. Otherwise I’ll have to hear about it all second hand. Sighing, T’kar pulled off his shirt and, moving Bel off of his pillow again, crawled back under the blankets. Fortunately, Rilora was still asleep.