All weyred up and nowhere to go

Aliseth landed on Yllaveth's ledge with neither grace nor skill - nothing but a half hearted snarl before she immediately curled up and went directly to sleep.

Day in, day out, this was E'zen's life. Cooped up in Br'son's bloody cave, when he'd been used to wandering plains. Watching the life drain out of his vicious, perfect dragon as she flew over and through the canyon over and over and over again.

"Oh bloody genius, this," he said sarcastically, no hesitation in letting his voice carry - he'd been quiet long enough, and it had accomplished fuckall. "Punish us both for proving the shadows and smokes were ready to fly, by making her fly until she falls out of the threaded sky. Really smart. Definitely teaching me a lesson about being a queenrider. I'm inspired to do better, really I am."

"Are you?" Br'son drawled lazily from his desk. He didn't even look up from the Records he was writing. "Because your shite attitude certainly isn't showing it. Teagan is outperforming you, and she hasn't even hit puberty yet."

In truth, the Weyrsenior was more than sick of his would-be 'second. E'zan was a willful young man with so much potential... that he chose to waste in futile anger and fits of temper. Br'son had had enough, and if E'zan wanted to argue... well... Br'son would gladly oblige him.

"Yeah, great job, intimidating a twelve year old into not being worried about her dragon. Take my shite attitude and shove it up your happy arse, if you'd rather. You act like you know everything, but you don't know bloody anything, do you? Do any of you? Snatching people to be your riders and then pissed they're not trained little do-anythings like your weyrbred. Tough all around."

E'zen was having just about every fight he could think of at once. Aliseth wasn't remotely conscious enough to ride herd on him, and he'd checked his own temper for too long trying to be a good whatever the bilge-bucketed-between these bastards wanted.

Br'son laughed. "Are we talking about the same Teagan? I think she'd be insulted to realize that you think she doesn't worry about Eniseth. She just knows that we might know a thing or two about raising dragons, seeing as we've done it for... I don't know... the entirety of their existence!"

He put down his stylus and leaned back in his chair. "Is that your problem, E'zen? You don't want to be here? You're pissed that we kidnapped you and "forced" you to Impress Aliseth? You feel trapped in the life of a dragonrider? Fine. Leave. Be my guest. You and Aliseth can fly. Get the fuck out of my Weyr with your bad attitude. I don't need you." As he spoke, Br'son kept his tone measured and calm, almost disinterested, as if he genuinely did not care whether or not E'zen and Aliseth stayed or went.

If they went, it would be a death sentence for Aliseth, and Br'son knew it. He just hoped E'zen did as well.

"Sure. I'll take her and let her starve or get eaten by thread because you're a half-bred moron. Sounds likely. You want my problems - fine. Yes, I'm bloody well pissed that I was snatched out of a betrothal and a good life with so much as a by-your-leave, and fuck you and all your idiots for thinking that means I can't hate that and love Aliseth." His voice rose - there was no way to call this anything but shouting.

"And yeah, done a great job raising dragons forever, haven't you, with barely any left. And you've 'raised' exactly zero shadows, so how about you stop acting like you know any-bloody-bleeding-FLAMING thing at all, you shite-faced weyrbaby!"

Br'son raised his eyebrows, and allowed his lips to curve into a little smile. Firene would have enjoyed this one, he thought. "I'm the baby? Which one of us is having a full-on temper tantrum right now? And in case you hadn't noticed, my dragons are still alive. I don't know what caused the plague, nor why our dragons were immune to the sickness, but I'm thanking my lucky stars that that was so. As you should as well... if you weren't so busy wrapped up in your own pity party. Poor E'zen. Lost your lover, did you? Well? Go and get her. You can fly... go find her. Or..."

Br'son's smile turned nasty. "Or does she not want you, anymore? I mean, I can see why she wouldn't. I can't think that a real man would scream and cry and kick his heels like a little baby, but what do I know? I'm only the closest thing you have to an expert on everything that will keep you and your queen alive. Which, in case you hadn't noticed, is exactly what Aliseth is. Shadow or not, she is a queen dragon. And I know quite a bit about 'raising' those."

E'zen took two long steps toward that smug-faced baby senior of his before coming up against some internal warning that checked his forward momentum. Every muscle visibly strained to knock Br'son off his seat, but he held (Aliseth, passed out behind them, couldn't (and wouldn't) have been the impetus there, so clearly more than some of Ashrah's lessons had sunk in).

And then he laughed, so blisteringly scornful that Evzen could never have managed such a noise. "Temper tantrums are all we're bloody allowed, you bleeding arsehole. Tell me about how your lover wants you for your half-grown manling self. Tell me about how you, the great wise barely out of wiping pants Br'son, single-handedly kept all of these dragons alive while nearly every other one died. Tell me you know bloody anything about how it happened, and how you're sure it won't happen here. Or maybe," another scornful laugh, this one perhaps to distract himself from a very real fear about the sickness, "you can tell me how you are just so brilliant that you know all about shadows, and all about dragons who fly at three months. Maybe you know what next month will be! Oh, no, maybe tell me all about how you're a breeding expert and know that these mutations will breed true more than two generations, cause it seemed like you were pretty surprised about smokes and shadows just like everyone else. Since you know everything, old harper, tell me your fucking wisdom."

He didn't say mutation dismissively, but with the knowledge of a herder raised by a herder who knew quite a bit about preferred traits, and how unlikely it was that they'd always breed true. Who knew that, craft training or not, breeding was an uncertain thing.

Overall, he spoke like a man who knew just enough to know how little he knew, had realized no one around him knew very much more but pretended they did, and was too angrily past his edge to think through anything at all.

And so. Shouting, cursing, and the near-overwhelming urge to punch Br'son in his pretty mouth.

Br'son laughed, his training from Firene easily helping him to channel anger into scornful amusement. "Why?" he asked. "Why should I bother teaching you? You're so blasted determined not to learn anything at all."

"Because you don't. know. anything." E'zen made a noise of utter dismissal. "You're so bloody scared about what a lost little child you are, you can't even fucking admit it. So scoff all you want, and punish us all you need to, but it doesn't make you any poxing less of a blind baby searching for some tit to cling to. Good fucking luck."

He turned his back on Br'son, making it clear he was well and truly done, and moved back toward Aliseth.

Br'son watched him go, anger simmering beneath the smirking expression. He waited for several minutes, listening to the seething silence from E'zan's general direction.

"Feel better?" he called out, after a short amount of time had passed. He didn't really expect an answer, but he laughed inwardly as he pictured the shadowrider's expression.

Silence. And then a boot, hurled with force, back into the weyr. It seemed unlikely to hit an intended target, and E'zen felt idiotic as soon as he did it, but it was that or flying tackle the weyrsenior, which - no matter how much of a bloody idiot he was - was a bad idea.

So, so tempting.

Bad.

At the sight of the boot flying back into the weyr, Br'son's laughter broke loose and echoed off the stone walls of the weyr.