[G] [C] 732.07.15 | We Have A Fanclub [S'kef]

"I see," R'nya responded smoothly when two of his three captivated audience voiced a negative on laying the blame on D'hys. The Wingleader was both pleased, and amused by their dedication to the truth; he hadn't believed the bluerider had posted it. Bluerider D'hys was a lot of things, but he was very rarely completely unreasonable. R'nya did not believe for a moment that whomever decided it would be a good idea to post the rather vivid piece of literature (if it could rightly be called so) would be far more proud of their handy work. It would not take long, to hunt down the author, of that he was sure.

Now, however, R'nya found himself faced with three young people who - while they trembled for the moment - he didn't doubt would develop loose lips once he was truly out of sight. Unfortunately, the bronzerider was also aware that an unknown number of men, women or children could have also seen the sheet of paper before the three young Crafters had happened upon it; then there was D'hys to consider, and his trusty sidekick. Politely being sidestepped as he left the Hatching Circuit was (undoubtedly) going to be the least of his concerns before the night was out.

"I will advise discretion." The wingleader's voice was as smooth as ever, even as an eyebrow arched up slightly and he once more took the time to meet each set of wide eyes. He couldn't keep them from gossiping if they were so inclined, and R'nya had never been one to attempt squishing that bug. The rumour mill at Katila was far too useful - if you remembered to take what was said with a handful of salt. "Brownrider S'kef will be far less pleased than I." R'nya's gaze shifted as he turned to look over his shoulder, aware that he would need to bring S'kef up to speed on the sheet now folded carefully in his pocket - before someone else did.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, miss." Nodding politely to the two young men and the young woman, R'nya took a step backwards before spinning neatly on his booted heel. He had no desire to further question the young men and woman that had been gathered; it was obvious they knew nothing. The young woman was far too timid and properly ladylike to do anything of the sort, and while he could have seen Sanderon doing something in order to target those that had ruined his life, he would have expected him to target those people - not a bronze and brownrider he was probably not even inclined to know the names of off the top of his head.

Walking with a determined step back in the direction he had come, R'nya ordered Xyreith to keep Tyrrisath grounded for the next few minutes, lest S'kef manage to escape before he came across his wingrider. It would not do for someone else to inform the brownrider of what was written on one particularly out of line piece of parchment.

"Brownrider S'kef!" R'nya raised his voice a little as he spotted the rider in question, still lurking on the edge of the Sands with his mate. "We need to speak. Privately." He could tell his mate if he wished, but R'nya would speak to the other man alone, first; he'd not embarrass his wingrider - That would look very unprofessional indeed!

What? Who was calling his name?

S'kef went rigid with annoyance. Fortunately, his usual posture was so rigid that it hardly looked out of place. He angled himself ever so slightly so his back faced R'nya, a dark look of frustration at the poor timing washing over his face. "I'll be right back," he said lowly to J'ver, his displeasure at being interrupted all too obvious. There was a promise in his voice. He would be back as quickly as possible. He gave J'ver's delicate hands one good squeeze before peeling away, spinning on his heels and plastering a mellow but believable serene expression.

"Wingleader," he said, nodding politely, but not overly formal. He didn't play that game anymore, not since getting burned by D'ren. Nowadays, he liked to tell people that he'd been so overly-formal before because D'ren was secretly a controlling asshole; Oh, if only people knew what the bronzerider was really like, he'd say with delight!

Now wasn't the time for games, though. It was the time to get shit over with so he could go back to celebrating his own amazingness. S'kef's mind was a chorus of swearing as he nodded to R'nya and patiently followed him away from the crowd; Shards, shells and thread! Fardles! FUCK. Fuck!! What the fuck?

He smiled. "What did you need, sir?"

What could possibly be so important?!

R'nya was never one to beat around the bushes, namely because he frankly saw no point in such things. It perhaps didn't help that he was not an overly vocal person; he saw no need in extra words and often - more often than not - was content to speak with the use of body language. Usually he himself did such things with an upraised eyebrow, though with the words he'd just read, R'nya wondered if he'd ever be able to raise his eyebrow again. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - it was such a force of habit that stopping would be nigh on impossible. Much like some people chewed their fingernails of finger-combed their hair.

The bronzerider was aware that the brownrider before him was another such; he was to the point and rarely messing around with unnecessary words. For that reason, despite S'kef's mild question, R'nya did not bother to answer him in voice. Rather, the Wingleader reached into his pocket and pulled out the sheet of parchment he had folded and placed within. He unfolded it without any particular flair, glanced at it (half hoping it might have changed in the few minutes since he'd last seen it) grimaced and offered it to S'kef.

Than he folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels, waiting.

S'kef scolwed. The scowl wasn't aimed at his wingleader, a fact which he assumed R'nya would recognize. R'nya was a smart man and understood fine concepts like subtly, so surely the gesture wouldn't be missed. Instead, the scowl was aimed the unwanted but obviously important issue that had cropped up on his special day, when he was supposed to be basking in the glory of being a goldsire. He couldn't only imagined what was so sharding important.

He quickly accepted the paper and unfolded it, expecting some sort of unpleasant order or perhaps an ugly letter from some stupid, butthurt hater who couldn't handle the fact that the Weyr's most notorious brownrider was having a good evening.

Oh.

S'kef's face coiled in a sneer. "You're shitting me," he hissed, scanning over the paper again in visible horror. He wasn't a talkative man, but he was awfully expressive. He spat some other, unintelligible curse under his breath and thrust the paper at R'nya.

"Unbelievable," he said angrily. "Where did you get this?!" He naturally assumed R'nya was as disgusted as he was, as evidenced by R'nya's discomfort. Who, then, would target both of them? S'kef would murder them!

R'nya was internally amused by the manner in which S'kef's attitude subtly changed between being handed the sheet of parchment, and the moment he finished reading it. The bronzerider probably would have smiled, except he was far too -- something -- about what was written on it; he wasn't even sure how to begin classifying how it was that he was feeling about the whole thing.

The foul language was not commented upon, and R'nya resisted with great determination the desire to arch his eyebrow; how could he, when those words were seared into his brain? 'R’nya raised an eyebrow, like it made him smart or something.' The bronzerider shuddered, a grimace flickering over his features before they settled once more into a neutral expression. Of all the sentences on that sheet of paper, Xyreith drawled, That's the line you choose to take to heart? The bronze paused for a moment, than his voice slithered slyly through R'nya's mind, the sound holding lingering chimes of amusement. Tyrrisath and his fat arse wouldn't dare block your doorway... a snigger, 'Motherfuckers are always in someone's way' -- isn't that how he swiped the slut gold?

Enough, Xyreith!

Yes, Sir. Despite the bowing down, the dragon's voice was still roped with his amusement. His human had been insulted, but the pathetic brownrider's had been worse, and that made it hilarious.

"From the notice board." It was R'nya's turn to drawl, his voice dry and emotionless as he looked flatly at S'kef. "A group of Candidates found it." An eyebrow shot up, and R'nya didn't even bother to try and control it. One corner of his lip twitched, but it vanished quickly. He didn't believe the children had put the note up, despite the rather questionable nature of one of the young men. The young lady had claimed to be there first, and R'nya could tell she'd been about to wither and die in shame of even being seen near the article - and not in a manner that lead him to believe she'd taken part in the writing it. The silly girl was probably still a virgin!

"Pissed anyone off recently?" This time R'nya did smirk. He'd pissed off an entire wing full of riders who found playing children's games demeaning. But being able to narrow it down to include people S'kef had pissed off (which was probably still most of the wing) would probably be useful.

"The notice board?" he repeated. Shard it. It sounded like some sort of unimaginably immature prank. The brownrider frowned again. "I'd say weyrbrats then, but are any of them sharding old enough to know that kind of language?" His question was mostly rhetorical, because yes, some of them absolutely were. As a peasant's child, S'kef had started swearing himself at a ridiculously young age. The content, on the other hand...that was a bit more out there.

He paused to consider his wingleader's question. "Pissed anyone off? Not that I can think of," he said, honestly and somewhat surprised. He'd been on his very best behavior as of late, a real professional kissass. Everyone and their mother knew he was two-faced, but he was fine with that as long as they couldn't effectively call him on it. He wasn't trying to win hearts and minds. He was winning brownie points.

So who had he pissed off?

He sighed. "I dunno," he confessed, dropping his usual poise and letting a bit of his normal self shine through. It was a testament to how comfortable he was with R'nya, if anything. He legitimately respected the man, which made him one of a very small group. "I hate to take a cheap shot, but T'shiro doesn't seem to care for me. Not sure why."

Oh, he sharding knew why. That bronzerider knew he was in the cross-hairs. S'kef wasn't going to admit to that, though.

"..I don't think he'd do this, though," he added afterwards. Shards, who could it be?

R'nya was more amused than he would show at S'kef's reaction to his accusation. He enjoyed the fact that the brownrider had just proved that R'nya knew more about S'kef, than S'kef knew about him. It was the way the bronzerider preferred it, and he had been vastly displeased (not that he showed it) when his promotion to Wingleader had suddenly brought him into the line of vision of people he'd long ago noticed, that hadn't even known he existed when D'ren made his announcement. 'Who?' had been such a familiar word, leaving the lips of the Weyr community, and R'nya had found it amusing; right up until people began to connect his name with his face.

Unlike R'nya, who had never held rank in his life - he was young, barely out of Weyrlinghood when the plague struck - S'kef had been Weyrsecond; he had been someone R'nya knew about long before he came to the brownrider's attention. He was also someone that the rumour mill was happy to gossip about, usually in a fearful hush that in and of itself told R'nya quite a bit about the older dragonrider. He was intimidating, and unafraid to step on toes to get what he wanted, though he had a way of being polite and almost sweet about it that deflected notice from those that would be inclined to punish his methods. R'nya had been surprised when D'ren had opted to leave S'kef as a wingrider while promoting both himself and T'shiro - both untried and completely lacking knowledge in comparison to the brownrider.

R'nya nodded once as S'kef dropped the act for a moment, the man's blue eyes cold and calculating for a moment, thinking back on his own disagreements with other riders; he knew there were several bronzeriders that envied his position of Wingleader when they were older, more knowledgeable or more skilled (in their opinions, or legitimately) but he had difficulty picturing them stooping to such a level as what had been scrawled on the sheet of parchment. An eyebrow arched slightly as S'kef offered up a candidate for the blame, his lips twisting wryly as he allowed S'kef a glance of just how onto the ball he was with that statement. A moment later, the bronzerider's features cleared back to their neutral expression.

"Indeed." A frown flickered between his eyebrows for a moment as R'nya considered for a moment. "I believe he would follow a more direct method." Like challenging one of them; he was very much into the controlled physical confrontation and R'nya could picture that far more clearly than he could his second sitting down and writing out a rather detailed account of his wingleader being raped by one of his wingriders. Besides, "he would have had you being molested." He tapped the paper. T'shiro would have wanted to put S'kef in his place, not have him abuse a bronzerider, especially one of rank. R'nya shrugged.

There were plenty of other people who disliked S'kef, that much they both knew.  The brownrider wouldn't even attempt to hide that fact from his wingleader. There were plenty who were jealous, but far more who resented S'kef's old reputation and his many cruel actions as Weyrsecond. S'kef had backed off on his flamboyant sadism, but that didn't erase it from the mind of those who had witnessed it.

Still, while he knew many who didn't care for him, he didn't know any who would use this as their method of retribution. He frowned and shook his head.

"Come to think of it, I don't think anyone that comes to mind would do this," he remarked. He knew his most obvious adversary, B'jin, was far too much of a damn prude to do such a thing. Besides, even if S'kef suspected B'jin he'd have kept it to himself. R'nya thought they were friends.

What of other greenriders, though?

Wait...what of other greenriders?

"A'liran," S'kef grunted in sudden realization. His facade slipped and a cruel sneer crossed his face. "That little shit harasses J'ver every chance he gets, and I've never seen such lewdness." He still wasn't sold, but it was the best idea so far. Idiot green, stupid slut!

R'nya watched silently as S'kef contemplated the sheet of parchment he still held, with the incriminating words scrawled across it in a particularly neat hand. The bronze rider had no idea who might have written it - he'd never had any need to pay particular attention to anyone's handwriting before and he couldn't think of any one person off the top of his head that may have a reason, desire or otherwise to write something like that about him. Whomever it was had issues, several of them.

An eyebrow shot up as a name was given, R'nya quickly placing a face and dragon to it. His expression shifted into a thoughtful frown as S'kef continued speaking. The greenrider was a known trouble maker, and R'nya was not unaware of his filthy mouth, especially around several blueriders and - apparently (though he wasn't surprised) J'ver. R'nya hrmed thoughtfully. Not being the green in question's wingleader, R'nya wasn't in any real position to accuse the man. He certainly wasn't going to bother D'ren over this.

"I will speak to his Wingleader. Discreetly." The man had no reason to see the parchment; R'nya wasn't in any particular rush to have it spread literally around the Weyr. He would get the greenrider's alibi for the duration of the Hatching (someone that had actually seen him there) and perhaps the two hours before... when he left. R'nya rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Better keep that, I suppose." He murmured, looking mildly at the sheet though he made no more to take it from the brownrider; he was far more inclined to tell S'kef to destroy it... Actually. The man's lips pursed for a moment. "Destroy it. I have little interest in one such as A'liran seeing it if he did not write it. I will leave that to you."

Nodding respectfully to S'kef, R'nya glanced at the parchment once more, expression rather void, before stepping around the brownrider and moving off. He would deal with A'liran on the 'morrow. Today he would let the Weyr celebrate, even if that included some sick fuck writing bizarre scenarios for their entertainment. Besides.

Surely whoever it was would get drunk and brag. What better way to catch them?

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[sup]Think we're done? S'kef can detain him if he has anything to say otherwise I think that's a wrap! :P[/sup]