'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.

PernWorld - Sunday, September 11, 2005, 9:25 PM - Log by Iniroc

Dragonriders of Pern (tm) is a creation of Anne McCaffrey - copyright 1967, 1997 (All rights reserved)

Fort Weyr - North Bowl
The northern end of the bowl can be an intimidating area, being that Fort is the largest weyr. The far north wall contains the gigantic opening to the hatching caverns, and to the west of that can be seen the sprawling ledges and carved stair cases that mark the way to the weyrleader's complex and junior queens ledges. The west cliff wall towers up, dotted here and there by darker openings that mark individual weyrs before it tapers to a point at Tooth Crag. At ground level on the western wall is the opening to the weyrling barracks, occasional glimpses can be caught of newly paired mates. On the eastern wall of the bowl is the entrance into the living cavern, the heart of the weyr.

People: Iniroc J'xmi Sheyna
Dragons: Wiyaneth

Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks -WB- Weyrleader's Complex -WC- Junior Queen's
Courtyard -JQ- Center Bowl -CB- Hatching Cavern -HC- Living Cavern -LC-

It's hour 16 in the third day, in week 3 of the third month of summer, in turn 2666. The moons are in their waning gibbous phase, and they are not up. The tide is low and rising.Fair weather clouds drift through the blue sky from the west. The wind is gusty.

Wiyaneth inclines her head and rumbles to J'xmi and Bysoth.

J'xmi nods curtly to the queen "Good day Queen Wiyaneth. How are you faring today?" he inquires, hands folded behind his back as he comes to a stop smartly to listen for her response.

Wiyaneth rumbles quite pleasantly as she again looks towards the sky. Her wing tips quiver and then still.

J'xmi tilts his head, then guesses "You are eager to be in the air again without being so laden I am guessing. Well, it will pass soon enough I am sure." he states reassuringly "It always does." The bronze crouches behind him, merely watching and listening silently

Wiyaneth glances down at J'xmi again and croons. Yes, of course.

J'xmi scratches at his sotmach a moment ponderously at the croon and nods in agreement "Can't be long now can it? I am guessing many riders have been placing bets for sevendays now on when you'll lay. "

Wiyaneth would shrug if she could, but the motion is still conveyed through her rumble and the spinning of her eyes.

Iniroc is but a small speck in the distance at first. Quickly, as if his pace is determined and hurried, he enlargens on the horizon. A stumble and near fall halt him suddenly and then, from there, he half-limps. As the tall, dark man nears, cursing can be heard and a scrape-scuffle to his gait suggests he probably stepped in something not quite pleasant.

Iniroc's Desc
Roc's a pretty hefty size for a guy that only looks to be just past twenty. Tall, very dark, but not handsome enough to be a complete package; still, he holds himself with an air of confidence. Swollen with hard-earned muscle, he might be intimidating if not for the goofier aspects of his visage. Hair that's wiry and black crops closely at the neck, but 'fros as it inches up his crown and away from a high forehead. One eyebrow permanently furrows, a scar near the corner suggests a cause. His brown eyes are small and deep-set, ill-proportioned by the width of his massive jowl and thin lips. When he speaks, his voice is the deep bass rumble one might expect from such a barrel-sized chest. But when he moves, it's with an unlikely inherent grace.A simply-stitched, plain, black bolero just barely fits around his broad shoulders. The hem brushes right at the navel line and more often than not, the buttons are left undone and the vest remains open. In cooler weather, he opts for a fur lining with a bit more sleeve and maybe one clasp to cinch out a cold wind. The pants are no more decorative, merely a dull brown workman style much like the scuffed boots on his big feet. The only pop of pizazz is in the belt, a fine leather tooling with an enormous and baroquely bejeweled buckle.

J'xmi chuckles softly and lifts a hand to pat, if permitted, on the nose reassuringly "Play a trick on them if you can… lay across midnight, on two days." he winks, then turns, notincg the taller man's cursing and quirks an eyebrow "… There a problem?"

Wiyaneth permits the pat, but just barely. She rests her muzzle between her legs and quickly dozes off.

Scrape-shuffle, scrape-shuffle. Iniroc lets loose a few more choice sentances before he looks up and realizes someone-and a (big) somedragon (how'd he miss that?)-are around to hear about his frustration. Glancing at the queen, he monitors his tone and takes the poop-scooping to a slightly downwind spot. "Just cleaned these danged boots, that's all. Someone left some runner dropping's near the bowl wall. Y'know, I thought a weyr might have someone taking care of these things." He mutters and grumbles more under his breath, "At least some friggin' kid."

J'xmi drops his brows together at that, and states crisply "SAve for the beast craftesr who clean the stalls of the Beasts, a Weyrs' riders do not clean up the dung after anything but their own dragons. Mayhaps one should learn to watch where one is stepping if you can't see it in front of you." he points out, tones even and calm.

J'xmi's Desc
Despite the slightly rotund belly of this man, he's quite fit. At about five and a half feet his sloped forehead is wrinkled above the thick,
wiry eyebrows. His receding hair is combed over the top of his dome, kinked and dull brown in color. Dark green eyes the color of mold peer out from his sun-wrinkled face. Though thinning on top, he wears it long, down to his shoulders and its thick, stiff, more like that of a horse.

His face is wrinkled, and unsightly pale across both cheeks, though he has visible tan across his eyes, giving him a masked look. Under his large nose, his moustache seems to fall right out of his nostrils, across his upper lip and down the sides of his cheeks, wiry and unkempt at the best of times, his mouth turned down almost in a perpeatual frown. On occasion, a glimpse of a yellowed, distorted row of teeth can be seen.

His body is thick, that is obvious. Aside from the aforementioned belly, slight obesity also leaves its' mark on his thighs, which even through the cloth pants jiggle, and his arms in the form of slouched flesh, and his chest in the form of man-boobs.

He wears riding boots, worn and cracked with split tops to fit his thickened calves into, and brown trousers with a plain tan top.

The withering look that crosses over Iniroc's already consternated face could just be for the tenacious droppings still clinging to his boot. Then again, it's difficult for him to keep the snap out of his voice. "Shells, man, I don't suggest a /rider/ clean it up," he explains curtly, patience obviously thin. It's an effort, but with a sigh he quells his anger and meet's the dragonrider's eyes with a bit more decorum in his manner. "Y'all have drudges, too-I've seen 'em-but moreover, the owner of the runner should have paid a little attention, too." In short, there's enough fault to spread it around a little.

J'xmi shrugs his shoulders faintly at that "Mayhaps, but maybe they presumed others to be alert enough to see the pile left behind." he responds, unfazed by the mans' cross look, as the bronze dragon observes quietly.

Decorum's nearly blown, but instead of shooting from the hip Iniroc merely perses his lips and finds a stick to get the last of the crap off his boot. The thin set of his eyes clearly conveys his annoyance anew-and he tries yet again to explain his whole point, "Well I guess their momma never taught them to clean up after themselves is all I gotta say." The enlarged muscles of his shoulders flex a little extra-like, his jaw twitches a bit.

J'xmi shrugs "I guess so." he states simply at that "I dont do runners, so I wouldnt' know if they have or not."

Iniroc's spat of anger diffuses with this comment. He straightens, stinky stick still held aloft by one hand. Both eyebrows draw down-well, the one is permanently fashioned that way, the other merely joins it in confusion. "Hunh? Wait-no, I meant the /rider/ of the runner's mother… No, I mean, the mother of the rider of the runner…" Frustration renews, he shakes his head and tosses the stick down with a huffy sigh. "Never mind, man. I guess we're coming at it from different sides."

J'xmi quirks an eyebrow at that "… I know what you meant. However, I dont know runners or their riders very well. Reguardless, maybe just watch where you step in the future. Better safe than sorry, right?" he advises

Iniroc is just so obviously flustered by the fact that he and the bronzerider's points are passing like ships in the night. Still, he's stubborn, and refuses to just back down… and maybe's a little bit of male posturing, too, as one might sense a little rebellious nature to a natural authority figure. Spreading his hands wide, he snorts and replies, "Look, I get it that I walked into it-but it doesn't take a special understanding of /human nature/ to wonder if people remember how to clean up messes under their responsibility." Then, comes the actual jab: "But, I guess that may be something that eludes /your kind/."

J'xmi quirks an eyebrow at that "… I know what you meant. However, I dont know runners or their riders very well. Reguardless, maybe just watch where you step in the future. Better safe than sorry, right?" he advises. "After all, I guess /our kind/ know how to be aware of our surroundings."

If Iniroc were wearing gloves, they'd be thrown by now. His eyes widen considerably, nostrils flare as his breath sucks in and the barrel of his chest inflates with indignation. A ripple effect happens-he snaps the lapels of his vest and then, with a lightning quickness that belies a slowness most associate with his size, his fist burrows through the air. It makes a determined and decided beeline for one certain bronzerider's jawline.

Izelth flies down from the northern sky.
Izelth has arrived.

Wiyaneth lifts her head and bugles angrily, her trumpet resounding through the weyr. Wings spread wide and her eyes spin rapidly, tinted with

*CRACK* The rumbly tumbly rider's head snaps to the one side and back from the force of teh blow, a slight startled expression over his face as he flies back… landing against his dragons' side… and bounces like he hit a wall of rubber and with a surprising quickness that fat people like him rarely have, flings himself back to attempt to tackle the larger, not-as-fast man, using his weight (And the rebound from Bysoth's side) for momentum as the bronze breaks his silence to ROAR enoug to settle sand dunes nearby.

Izelth wings low over the northern sky, warbling and trilling a greeting down to the white-gold form of Wiyaneth far below, and lands with a crisp backwing, clear of people… the greeting rapidly becomes a throaty sound of concern as his eyes begin to swirl orange and yellow. "What the…?!" from his neck, X'an's unbuckling the clasps that hold himself and Elara to the straps, making to help her down….

Izelth's back> Elara squeaks, rapidly sliding down from Izelth with
X'an's help, racing to her queen's side to soothe her.
Elara steps down from Izelth's back.
Elara has arrived.

X'an swings down from Izelth's neck.
X'an has arrived.

The smug moment of satisfaction that washes over Iniroc's face lasts for only a hair of a second. The queen's trumpetting, the arrival of another bronze dragon, and the man's own lifemate bugling alarm catch him quite off guard. Oh yes, that's right-there be dragons. Smug turns to uncertaintly, which gives J'xmi more than enough time for an advantage. Physicality may be Roc's forte, but that's a whole lot of man to avoid moving quite rapidly. He has just enough time to set his feet before the two meet and he raises his arms to grapple. Dragons, danger, and detriment be damned.

X'an slipslides down on the heels of Elara, watching with a note of alarm as she races off to quell Wiyaneth, he has but a moment to register what's going on before the amazing elasticity of an enormous herd-beast gut catapults a familiar middle-aged portly bronzerider straight into a wall of muscle and the two go down. Clicking fingers, he strides forward with a look of angry determination on his face, and Izelth swings himself around, tail lashing, lips pulled back from his canines rearing up onto his haunches, forearms ready to use their hands. The weyrleader's bronze growls, hisses loudly, but it's dwarfed by: "WHAT IN THE NAME OF FARANTH'S FORTY DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

OF course, when one's rider is in danger, adragon is only concerned about his safety from all others and the other bronze steps forwards too as the muscular man grapples and gets a hold of the tubby rider. THe man grunts a bit, loosing a step of ground as he leans back, then snaps his head forwards, at the same time jerking on the arms that were a moment ago being resisted, turning so the top of his head would be aimed for Iniroc's face to try and bring him down quickly, a bruise forming under his beard as they fought.

Wiyaneth hisses and roars her discontent, even as Elara stands by stroking her neck and generally fretting. At Wiyaneth's roar Elara's face turns sickly white and she presses ever closer to her queen.

Iniroc has officially entered the zone. We're sorry, but all questions and comments must wait until the end of the session. In short, the man is focused on one thing, and one thing only: he no longer registers the commotion of even the very large seniorship pair, nor J'xmi's own lifemate reacting and possibly thisclose to shedding true or false light on the adage no dragon would ever kill a man. Iniroc tries to lunge forward in a last ditch effort to unbalance the bronzerider, but it comes just as the rider himself snaps forward. With a crack, foreheads connect and Iniroc's on the receiving end-the bad end. His scarred eyebrow busts open anew and he windmills backwards, balance unsteady.

X'an's face gets redder around his neck, eyes as cold as hell is hot, he simply folds his arms over his chest, tapping his boot on the ground, and nods. That's all it takes for Izelth to move in, black talons reaching to encompass a tubby body and a muscular brick jake-house. If they don't listen? Lift, and separate. The coppery bronze grunts and whuffs at Bysoth, this had BETTER work….

J'xmi jerks himself backwards as well - right into the waiting claws of Izelth, more startled than anything as he chirps in surprise, at least one of them easily captured. Of course, this makes his own dragon anxious and the creature turns to move one step towards Izelth before pulling back, every muscle in his body tense under the fat now as he watches… yes, he knew IZelth would not hurt his rider, but still, the instinct was there.

Wiyaneth settles down as Izelth breaks up the fight, her tail lashing back and forth in the grass. She rumbles darkly. Elara trembles and takes a step forward, eyes narrowing.

Iniroc struggles initially-the cut on his brow may be shallow, but that sucker's a bleeder. With his good eye, he finally sees what his fingers can't decipher: talons wrapping around his thick waist. Interesting, that. Roc may be /damn/ big, but he's not about to take on a bronze dragon. He stops moving, but every muscle clenches, his jaw so taut you can hear the teeth cracking a little under the pressure. Squinting, seething, and panting for every breath, his one unbloodied eye flicks back and forth from dragons to riders.

Izelth settles on his haunches, wings spread, curled up and over, rather like a large draconic squirrel, so his loosely held fists and thier cages of talons are flat on the ground. His hind toes curl into the dirt to keep his balance properly, and he remains there, being a good referee. X'an's crossed-arm stance tightens a margin further, striding up to the space between his dragon's hands, he looks left then right at the caged fighters, then toward Elara, then back. This is probably not a good quadrangle to be in. Or should it be heptangle, there being seven individuals here.. "What. Happened." - all he manages to say to start with, and gosh it looks like Elara's about to pop a fuse.

Diz walks into the north bowl, from the center bowl.
Diz has arrived.

Ayame walks into the north bowl, from the living caverns.
Ayame has arrived.

J'xmi pants a few times, flushed himself as he leans back against the palm of the dragon, making no move to escape the cage. He closees his eyes, concentrating and his dragon quietens down, crouching there, watching the other man closely, before the rider sttes "We had a differing of opinions."

Elara storms forward, her eyes fierce and blazing with her anger. She stops beside Izelth and yells up, mostly at Iniroc. "What were you THINKING?" she bellows at him, her voice lifted to unusual levels, "Upsetting Wiyaneth like that? She's about to -clutch-, you thick headed wherry!" Gasp. "Punching a Bronzerider! I've never seen such behavior in my entire LIFE! I…I…I…" Fuming, her hands clench into fists of her own and she spins on a heel to storm back to her queen, the pair quietly soothing each other.

Fresh from the baths, Diz still has a rosy, fresh-scrubbed look. She is sliding the metal twists of her earrings into place, and idly affixing copper cuffs around each wrist as she directs herself to this section of the bowl. Of course, that trek means that her crisp and laundered look is somewhat ruined as dust dims the brilliance of her attire. She might be seen frowning while flicking a crumb of dirt from her sleeve— only to have the expression shift into something sharp and wary as shouting is heard. -That- voice shouting? Nevermind appearances, Svandis breaks into a run to approach that little gathering, a sheathed knife appearing in her hand as she goes.

Ayame strides in, looking somewhat annoyed. "Someone said there's a row going on and I should get here in time for the bloodletting." She stops and surveys the scene. "What's going on? Tch. Can't a healer take a few days off around here?"

Iniroc is /clearly/ aware of his defeated position in all manners of this matter; bias abounds. One last furious glare is foisted in the direction of said bronzerider before the newcomer tempers his countenance. Cautiously, he lifts a hand to smear away blood from his eye and merely wipes it on his vest. It's black for good reason. With a grunt, he mumbles something like, "I'll say," in response to X'an's query and J'xmi's offer of explanation. He makes no move to leave the not-so-gentle embrace of Izelth's clutch. Shoulders are slumped, he's given up the fight, but there still remains a vestige of rebellion. The glance he gives Elara is both apologetic… and slightly wounded.

Tobiath flies down from the northern sky.
Tobiath has arrived.

S'rus swings down from Tobiath's neck.
S'rus has arrived.

X'an could be described as /irate/ of course, yes indeed. But his eyes widen as /Elara/ goes off the deep end and hisses her rant. "Quite." mildly surprised? Hardly. VERY surprised. "So…." And Diz arrives, his eyes lift to her, Izelth's clawholds slowly releasing, but not opening fully.. if there's lunges made, the bronze is perfectly ready to close his fists up again and cage the combatants off. "Stand down Diz…" no knives need be drawn… hopefully. One hand lifts to pinch his eyes, and in a droll tone he notes: "So, let me see if I'm correct here… someone older and allegedly wiser sees fit to allow his wit to challenge his better judgement, to the tune of punches being thrown, at a weyr he's visiting, on one of our residents no less, infront of a heavily pregnant gold? And our resident, far be it for him to turn the other cheek and act wiser than his station, decides that blood must be spilled to satisfy some kind of violation?" he looks around at everyone. "Please, go ahead and pull out your todgers and piss on one another's shoes whilst you're at it!"

S'rus slides down from a long, thin built bronze and pulls down four large canvas bags, which he deposits nearby, "I have mail for Fort Weyr." he says in a slightly surly tone, as if he is in a bad mood. "If you have any outgoing mail, please bring it to me."

J'xmi has a blossoming bruise on one cheek, and as he's released, he moves quickly towards his own bronze, patting the nose to calm him further, the eyes soon slowly spinning toilets of blue again as the man turns towards X'an, listening, a bit pale himself. Yes, instilled fear of Weyrleader, even if he's young enough to be one's grandson, is still there. He tilts his head slowly "… I am at fault then. You are correct X'an. I should have held my tongue in this matter. " he quirks a brow at the mention of resident, and turns a querying glance to Iniroc simply.

Elara strokes Wiyaneth's muzzle and then turns, heading for her weyr. She knows X'an will take care of it, and she needs to remove herself from the situation. The queen gives a low rumble to Izelth and lumbers slowly after her rider.

J'xmi says "His words were taken incorrectly by myself , and I thought he had slighted WEyrkind with what he said."

Elara moves into the Weyrleader's Complex.
Elara has left.

Wiyaneth moves into the Weyrleader's Complex.
Wiyaneth has left.

Stand down? But she's only just arrived. Diz circles the assembly, oozing her way among the participants with her knife still at hand. True, it's still sheathed, but that's a technicality. The arrival of yet another bronze prompts her retreat to the lee of Izelth, however. No sense in ruining her recent bath entirely with kicked up dust. There, now somewhat safe from soiling and with a clear view of the two being lectured so thoroughly by X'an, she adopts a patient, unsmiling watch. "Ah, sweet reason."

When the dust clears, a pudgy wedge head with spinning eyes glinting at yellow fringes was at head level to Diz. Not near her, but between her and the rider, watching her. [Bysoth]

Ayame stalks closer to the scene of the crime. She gives Diz a 'look'. "Put that away if you don't mind, please. I'm on days off, and I won't appreciate having to patch up any messes," she points out dryly. She then turns to Iniroc. "You've blood on you. Yours, or someone else's?"

It would be /so/ easy to support the Weyrleader's assumption regarding the chain of events-especially after J'xmi accepts this version and apparently seeks to let it rest. But Iniroc remembers it happened a little different and, well. Is a man truly that if he is without honor? Or, then again, maybe he's just determined to be at opposite ends with J'xmi every step of the way. Only the quickest of glances take in the newly attracted to the scene. So now, a verbal altercation begins. The show must go on. "I threw the first punch," he admits quickly, with gusto. His chest even puffs out a little proudly. If he's going down for his actions, he'll do it with a measure of pride—and a pint of blood, the brow is still letting a little. "Uh, mine," Ayame distracts him momentarily, "He /did/ draw first blood."

Tobiath looks cooly at the scene, seemingly bored or maybe disinterested in Weyr squabbles. Its none of his business anyways.

X'an is struck by the surrealism of a mail-run, contratempts, and a man twice his age being visibly afraid of him, for a moment at least. Ridiculous, ridiculous indeed.. his pale eyes shift to Diz, he bobs a faint nod, then to S'rus he indicates the living caverns. "Our stewards and weyrstaff will likely have a bag of outgoing mail for you there, bronzerider. Forgive me if I don't come to receive you personally… /bit/ of a situation here." - Just a tiny, tiddly trace of facetiousness that seems mostly directed at the ludicrousness he finds himself in, rather than the people at large. With a sigh… Izelth angles his head to squint a singular eye down at Diz in his shadow, whuffing once. Another sigh. "You. You." Stabbing fingers at both J'xmi and Iniroc. "In my office. Now, if you will." lets just not make this any worse by public humiliation, hmm? He moves off toward the weyrleader's complex…

J'xmi nods simply at that as he dabs at his bruised face, rather tenderly as he moves to walk behind X'an obediently, the dragon moving to fall in behind the humans… ALL o fthem, including Iniroc.

S'rus gives a stiff nod to the Weyrleader and moves off, leaving the mail bags for weyrfolk to take in and sort.

S'rus moves into the Living Cavern.
S'rus has left.

Diz's eyes flick briefly to Ayame or (more accurately) to Ayame's knot. "Peace-knotted," she responds quietly, the twist of a smile coloring her tone as she thumbs the cord securing the knife in its place. But rather than create a fuss, the young woman returns the covered blade to its place— belted under her tunic, neatly hidden by the drape of fabric. The situation seems well in hand, leaving her with ample time to turn a narrowed regard on Izelth, of all people… er… dragons. "Nnph." It's a disgruntled sound, just shy of undignified, and accompanied with the loosening roll of one shoulder. A retreat is made, giving the guilty plenty of room to go by. Even the pudgiest of bronzes.

X'an heads up the steps, not looking back. "The cut can wait. It's called 'repercussions' …" he's making himself so many friends in the infirmary, what with dunking greenriders wearing bandages and all that jazz. "Diz, Ayame, if you'd perhaps do the honour of offering fort's hospitalities to the visiting, I'd be /very/ grateful…" - but for now, he HAS to sort this out.

X'an moves into the Weyrleader's Complex.
X'an has left.

J'xmi moves into the Weyrleader's Complex.
J'xmi has left.

Iniroc gives both Weyrleader and J'xmi a wide berth, but falls into step so as not to have his heels nipped by a you-know-who. With a parting, half-grateful wave to Ayame, he seems to say: be seein' you later. Or at least someone with a modicum of stitching skills. Diz, as unfamiliar as she is, is given a wary glance. Brandishing a knife and all, can't ever be too sure of a woman with a knife out.

Fort Weyr~<> Weyrleader's Weyr (#10581RJM)
A small section of this massive cavern has been confiscated for use as an office. Four desks have been placed directly to the right of the entrance, one each for S'vitaur and A'rtomus, and the third for an assistant to them all. Each desk is equipped with a computer, lamp, various piles of hides and paperwork, and enough chairs for the desk's occupant and at least two others to converse face to face. A series of filing cabinets line the wall behind them. Over time, as more cabinets have been brought in, partitions have been created between each desk, forming the Pernese version of office cubicles and offering a bit of privacy when needed. The rest of the cavern is completely empty, leaving ample room for several dragons to lounge within if they tire of the wide and often sun-drenched ledge outside. A few cobwebs hang about the tunnel which leads to the vacant sleeping chamber and bathing cavern. The passage, it appears, hasn't been used for some time.

For area help: +fowhelp +help places

People: Iniroc X'an
Places: S'vitaur's Desk A'rtomus' Desk Assistant's Desk

Obvious exits: Weyrleader's Complex -WC-
J'xmi has arrived.

X'an heads across the unlived in weyr, not looking back until he's infront of one of the desks, then he turns about crisply, rests his rump on the side of the furniture, crosses arms /snugly/ and arches eyebrows at them both. "It's you two, me and the walls. Explain."

J'xmi follows in, and straightens a bit, hands glasped behind his back, almost at attention. He glances to Iniroc first, wondering if the resident wished to go first.

Iniroc will take the upperhand if it's offered. Finally able to make a move for his pockets without fear of dragons a'snatching, he pulls out a handkerchief and starts to mop at a brow. With a sigh, he relents fully. "Look. Weyrleader-sir." Backpedalling at this point, he's trying anything to regain the image of respectful resident, "I don't even know this guy's name, we just met in the bowl after I stepped in some runner crap. He thought I was saying /something/ about riders cleaning crap up, all I meant was whoever's /runner/ it was should clean it up, and it kinda got out of hand." It comes out in a rush, a little confused and vague-but there, in a nutshell.

X'an dips his head down, listening as he taps his fingers on his elbows one at a time, lips pursing together into a thin line. "I see. Misconstrued words…" he clucks his tongue, looking up with diamond-sharp eyes at them both. "You -both- should know better than this, though. Period. You, J'xmi, because you've upset two dragons out of this, and a rider of your calibre and station in life should really be above pettiness and exchanges of blows over trivial matters such as …." and here he clears his throat, and emmulates a child's tone.. "…Your a bunch of poo-poo heads." - to Iniroc.. "And how long have you lived in and around weyrs and dragons? Long enough to know that dragonmen are not alone in life… However… J'xmi, explain your side of things, please?"

J'xmi listens, and tilts his head slightly, and then states 'AS before, I did misunderstand him at first, I admit to that. Though I also told him that" he pauses, then continues "But I think what did rankle me was his comment about 'my kind', and I admit I returned in kind, about 'his kind'. " he falls silent once more before finishing, almost as though tired of speaking. "I think both of us are at fault, both for misunderstanding and continuing to prod at each other's sensitivites. IT was irrespondsible of me."

Iniroc is not quite so quick to dissolve the main tenants of the problem. He points out, with a pointed finger, even, that, "I only meant your kind as in the kind of dragonrider who feels /entitled/ to everything being done for them—and you came off that way, c'mon man. I didn't mean to suggest /every/ dragonrider is that way. But there are some. Even you should be able to admit that." See, this is how these things start. Roc takes a deep breath and quickly continues in a more moderate tone, one hand covers the bleeding eye so at least half his expression is cool. "Look man," he slips in and out of formality, "Where I come from, mostly holds, I don't spend a lot of time in Weyrs cause it's not where I get the most business from," he gestures at his physique, "And I'm used to us holdbred being allowed, being /able/ to duke it out with a quick fight. I wasn't trying to kill the man, I ain't like that. But every man every now and then could use a swift punch." Another sigh, "Even me. But I'm sorry I hit a dragonrider, and upset the dragons, /especially/ the clutching queen." That, above all else, seems to pique his regret the most.

X'an sighs and shakes his head slowly from side to side, loudly and firmly facepalming. "I'm holdbred myself. Infact, I'm holdbred of the highest order. I can understand that sometimes a man and another man simply have to trade blows, get it out of their systems, and that's that." his hand is dragged down, so one eye can peer between his fingers at them both. "This amounts to a pissing contest… it really does. NEXT time you feel the need to exert a position of authority, make sure there's enough people to place bets, so at least someone makes a profit out of a profitless endeavor, and do something equally challenging… such as /armwrestling/…" - he sounds somewhat tired really. "Elara's a sensitive woman. She's not the kind that explodes like she did today.. it's most perturbing, and as punishment to /both/ of you for publically humiliating yourselves as you did… I would be pleased to see a formal written apology and a token of your esteem sent to her to placate her." eyes on J'xmi. "Otherwise I might have to write a formal and rather terse letter to Lord Sh'yeo about Ierne's resident riders."

J'xmi looks to Iniroc at that, and glances back to Sh'yeo "Lord Sh'yeo is not at fault for my actions, for I'm new to the Northern Continent wholly." he points out quietly "However, I will write an apology to her. IT is only proper after all." he assents simply.

Iniroc rubs the back of his neck with the hand not staunching his bloodflow. "Written?" he queries nearly under his breath. He doesn't seem the type to be ever so eloquent, or to have the best of penmanship. However, he acqueisces with a nod and half-bow. "Out of everything else, I regret upsetting the Weyrwoman the most." The glance he slides back to J'xmi still has a little simmering heat in it, a slow burn, but contained. What if they /had/ had an armwrestling contest? Muscles flex a little as he considers that outcome, measuring J'xmi anew. Enough time to address that later, though. "I'll abide by your ruling, Weyrleader."

X'an nods perfunctorally. "Good." he rolls his shoulders back, pushing off the desk to stand at a trim parade rest, arms tucking around his back, to the small instead of folded over his chest. "Elara /is/ the heart of our weyr, Wiyaneth the future of dragonkind in Fort. I /appreciate/ your humility in this matter. Now, I recommend going to have a few whiskeys between the two of you, pick on someone else that you both can have a good rant about, and enjoy fort's Hospitalities. I'm sure Ayame and the infirmary staff can take care of any injuries, although I think both of you could do with asking the cooks for a steak." he looks pointedly at bruising faces and cuts. "If you'll excuse me though.. I'm tired. I've just come back from conclave. I have an entire meeting of the leadership of Pern to type up onto computer, and a monstrous amount of relaxing to do.. good evening to you both."

J'xmi nods at X'an, offering a crisp trained salute to the man as he sidesteps, allowing the Weyrleader to exit first. Then he glances to Iniroc, the expression hard to read… half-lidded eyees turned sideways in the glance, the moustached face frowning as always as he turns to head out second, his Bronze waiting just outside the door.

Iniroc nods and bows again to the Weyrleader. He turns on a heel and lingers at the doorway, giving J'xmi and his mate a good head start. No need to let be two to one again. Once they're a safe enough distance ahead, he leaves finally—one last glance and nod thrown back to X'an.