One Less Problem [Execution] [Open]

Nothing of note happened at Katila with attendant uproar, and C'vir had prepared himself accordingly.  Aliran's shouted protests -- taken care of quickly and without much fuss -- were promptly forgotten in the midst of Tsuen's tantrum, an unchecked outburst closely following R'nya's reading of the facts pertaining to the case. The Weyrwoman wanted blood, and, in some ways, C'vir couldn't blame her. A few shades short of sane though she may have been, her anger, at least, was reasonably justified. Her weyrmate had been poisoned and very nearly killed; had the tansy been any more effective, Katila would be mourning the loss of two bronzeriders.

From the periphery, Besulth offered his assessment. Her emotions are acceptable, but her public display is not. C'vir agreed; Tsuen's shrieking wouldn't do her in any favors in the eyes of a public already skeptical of her mental fitness. He glanced uncertainly at the seething woman as S'kef brushed her aside, recognizing the need to get her out of the way but hesitant to attempt to remove her himself.  The internal debate proved needless as D'hys deftly stepped in and guided Tsuen away from the platform, allowing the remainder of the unpleasant proceedings to continue uninterrupted.

C'vir kept his eyes on the crowd when S'kef disappeared between with T'shiro, coolly scanning the ranks of those gathered for signs of further trouble. Had there not been so many eyes staring back at him, he would've lowered his own -- a show of consideration for the guilty bronzerider's final moments. After an uncomfortably prolonged pause, Tyrissath and S'kef emerged, alone, to the unsettling din of keening dragons. The hairs on the back of the brownrider's neck rose, a physical response to the memories -- and the resultant emotions -- that accompanied the weyr's mourning cry.  The plague period and the first few disorganized turns of life in the south had ensured that he was no stranger to the singular, penetrating noise. It had marked his own father's death, and the deaths of many others; the sound would never fail to somber him significantly.

Absorbed in his own thoughts, he missed both S'kef's final remark and the disconcertingly triumphant smile he'd aimed at the weyrwoman along with it. Not the ideal time to let your thoughts wander, Besulth reprimanded him, bringing him back to the present in just enough time to register Emalore's determined approach. While the rest of the crowd started to dissipate, the bluerider made her presence known -- and her displeasure -- known.

As directed, C'vir took the few steps necessary to fulfill the weyrleader's dictates. He took a final glance at S'kef's receding back before turning to face Emalore, placing a firm but gentle hand around her arm directly above the elbow. "It's done," he stated levelly, as much to himself as to the woman. "And you're lucky that the weyrleader is distracted. Spare yourself a lashing and go home." S'kef had given the distinct impression that he was done meting out punishments for the day; that didn't mean he wouldn't remember the female bluerider's outcry in the future. He means well, Besulth added privately to the grounded Uhorth. He would not wish harm to come to your rider.