Fight Back

Fight Back

Who: Jet, M’tan, Kyramith, Sirhyth, Khyrisan, Safiye
When: Month 6, 202 AT
Where: Court of Shadows, Honshu Territory
What: Information gathering and plans to be… useful.


Whatever it was that went on at Honshu, the anger and calls to battle and defence called to Kyramith to such an extent that she didn’t settle to sleep that night, nor the next morning, only finally succumbing to exhaustion late in the afternoon after promises from Jet that they would go and find out what had gone on once she was rested. And that’s just what they’ve done today, Jet forcing her fear of Between aside to visit Weyr after Weyr in search of news and understanding, relaying information to Sirhyth and M’tan at each stop. Where they went last, there’s no telling yet, for they’ve shared nothing of it, and as hours pass both green and rider return home, Jet pale and worn, but with a clear destination in mind. From what now serves as a nursery, she picks up Khyrisan, then heads upstairs to curl up in bed atop the covers with her sleeping son held close, drawing comfort from his presence.

M’tan and Sirhyth did their own set of investigations, avoiding Weyrs and focusing on the areas where those less-than-respectable sorts frequent. There’s plenty of gossip and information to gather, some of which M’tan can easily dismiss as an attempt for the money he offered for information. He returns home not long after Jet, Sirhyth’s knowledge of his mate’s return enough to pull the bronze home. Bronze hide seeks green as M’tan makes his way upstairs to find his mate. He opens the door slowly, carefully slipping inside and taking a moment to drink in the sight of Jet with their son in her arms. He eases his boots off and loosens the collar of his shirt before he inches towards the bed and moves to settle in beside Jet. “What news did you gather?” he asks softly, moving to brush a careful finger against their son’s head. Sirhyth wraps himself around Kyramith, tangs of his day surfacing around his mindscape. << Did she do well Between? >> he questions, draping a tired wing across her.

Kyramith has gone to lurk in the dark and cooler climes of the large building that’s continued to serve as a weyr for her and Sirhyth, and, while turbulence ripples through her otherworldly atmosphere, it only takes a few moments of bronze hide being pressed to green for them to ease and for clouds to begin to dissipate, revealing clear, starry skies. << She hates it still, >> she shares, nosing gently along the edge of her mate’s wing. << I don’t think we will be going far for a while. >> Tucking her paws over his, she tells him, << We will always come back with you to come home to. >> Jet rests her head against M’tan’s shoulder and gives a soft sigh. “Something’s fractured at Fort. Two of the juniors aren’t happy with whatever has gone on. Telgar’s leadership is aggravated that Honshu’s senior managed to detain them and so many others. Benden’s worried about more or less the same thing: that the senior is too powerful. They’re wondering if it was an inside job to show off her strength.” She touches her lips to the top of their son’s head. “…I went to the Underground’s old tunnels while we were at Fort,” she confesses. “There’s no-one there. Abandoned.”

Sirhyth thrums in the back of his throat, crooning softly to help ease the tension of the day. He keeps himself pressed close, listening. << She is very strong as you are >> he tells her, shadows breaking away and dropping to make a space for the stars. << Home >> he agrees, letting the stars above them soothe them. M’tan tucks Jet against him, lifting his shoulder and arm to encircle hers and draw her close enough that he can press a kiss to the top of her head. “I love how they instantly think it’s Honshu’s senior that is a problem because she is strong and not a problem that their lineage of queens is so weak as to be that easily overcome,” M’tan drawls, huffing a sound into her hair. “The arrogance of dragonrider’s like that will never change, no matter what time we are in.” He tips his head back and contemplates the ceiling, mulling over the possibility of an ‘inside job’. “Doesn’t seem like a Southern Weyrhold would want to try and care for a bid of strength to the North. What would come of that?” He shakes his head and grows still, his body tensing as mention of the Underground is delivered. “We should cave it in,” he snarls, “and be done with it all.”

“People don’t like having their weaknesses exposed. It was the easiest way to push people like Jana to the edge. Which means…” Jet gives a twitch of her lips and drawls, “Honshu had better watch out. Exposing the inferiority of other Weyrs is a good way to become a target. Whether she realises it or not, their Weyrlady just got a great big target painted on her head.” As Khyrisan stirs, she soothes gently at his back, softly murmuring nonsense syllables to him. “And if Fort’s going to spend the next few weeks fighting with itself, it’s an excellent opportunity for someone to enact some change there. If it can be done at all.” She keeps one arm around Khyrisan, pressing the other over M’tan’s heart. “…We should spend a day at Fort, listening. Then destroy those caverns.” It’s not the thought of //that// that makes her smirk, but that of, “If it creates a big enough disturbance, it’ll only add to their paranoia and in-fighting.”

“Sounds like Fort has never changed and will never change,” M’tan mutters, shaking his head before he curves his face down to press a kiss against her cheek. “I have someone I trust, enough to entrust with a mission, and I think I’ll send him to Fort to… listen and report on what he can.” He moves to take Jet’s hand from his heart to press against his lips. “Perhaps we can drop him off at Fort and then go and wreck havoc in their hillsides?” he questions, delighting in the idea. “Even if we don’t know these people at all, I rather like the idea of building ourselves a way to offer Honshu our… services,” he grins at her and draws a hand down along Khyrisan’s back. “Sounds like they may be vulnerable enough and in need of some guidance on how to… remind people why they can fight back?” He supposes and then shrugs. “Or maybe we just gather information and make them pay us for it.”

“I like that idea,” Jet practically purrs, unable to completely wipe the smirk from her lips. “I’ll see what I can get my hands on to make some decent explosives. I’ll have to run some tests… They’ll need to be powerful enough to get the job done quickly and create a stir without… Well, it being too much.” Gently, she shifts Khyrisan enough to offer him over to M’tan, waiting until he supports his weight before she wraps her arms around them both and holds on, tucking her face into the crook of her mate’s neck for a moment or so. “If Honshu is as liberal leaning as they sound… They could probably do with having someone on retainer to do what they’re not willing to – or at least not willing to be //seen// doing…” She wrinkles her nose. “And I might not be particularly fond of queens, but if theirs really is as strong as everyone is so worried about… and those juniors are her daughters… we’d be throwing our support behind the right Weyr.”

M’tan takes Khyrisan carefully from Jet, supporting him properly and then easily tucking him against his chest to shelter his weight against his warmth. “Explosives have a nice touch to them,” he agrees, smirking crookedly at her. “And blame can always be dropped on the Smithcraft if we use the right materials.” He considers Jet’s assessment of the queens at Honshu. “I suppose that’s right,” he says, “so long as it’s made clear we are not to be run by Weyrleaders of any kind. I left that behind me when we jumped time. I won’t chafe under the hidebound constraints of that lifestyle, nor should you. No matter how liberal they are, they’re still… using their dragon’s for a title.” He soothes his hand idly along Khyrisan’s back, humming a little tune as he thinks. “I’d rather they owe us than we support them, don’t you think? That way they can’t claim us later.”

“…I should go and see if the Smithcraft has bothered to change the locks in the past few decades,” Jet supposes, keeping her head resting against M’tan’s shoulder. “But no. I won’t answer to a queen, no matter what her rider calls herself. They should know that from the start. The instant one tries to command Kyramith or Sirhyth is the same instant they become our enemies.” She presses her lips to his shoulder, mulling over one thought and another. “They’re feeling vulnerable right now, so now’s the time to find something that they need or need doing. Get them while they’re thinking more emotionally than logically. Some measure of proof of who hit them so hard would be most useful…” Before she can continue, there’s a tentative knock at the door and a young voice that calls, “…Mother?” Silence, then, “Papa?” It’s taken her a while, but Safiye has finally worked herself up to referring to M’tan as her father without fear of reprisal, something that has only made Jet wonder all the more about exactly what went on at Kadross.

“Hopefully Joeuff can learn something at Fort,” M’tan tells her, sighing as he eases his head back against the wall. “Granted, he’s of an age he could Impress there. That could change things, in a good or a bad way. For now, I’ll send him. He grew up with traders, so he’s used to breaking the rules if the price is right.” He grins at that, “Not unlike someone I met on the road all those years ago.” The knock draws him silent and then he calls out to Safiye, “Come in sweets. We’re just talking.” He flashes a wider smile at Jet, pleased to hear Safiye say the words ‘Papa’. “That’ll never get old,” he murmurs to Jet as he wriggles his toes and stretches his legs out on the bed.

“I have never broken a rule in my life. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Despite her best efforts, Jet can’t manage to keep a straight face and ends up hiding a soft, stupid smile against M’tan’s shoulder, her eyes on the door as Safiye opens it and nudges it ajar to peer into the room. She lifts an arm away from her side and in their daughter’s direction to invite her up onto the bed and into the pile of cuddles, answered by the little girl shedding her shoes and scrambling up, mindful of Khyrisan as she tucks herself in at Jet’s side. If nothing else, Safiye’s upbringing has definitely involved the instilling of manners. “You were both gone a long time today,” is all she offers by way of explanation as she snuggles in closer and reaches out a hand to gently smooth at Khyrisan’s hair. “We’ll always come home to our favourite people,” Jet promises in a murmur, echoing the earlier words of her lifemate.

“We have to be gone, sometimes longer than we like, in order to keep the world operating how we want it to,” M’tan offers to Safiye, smiling at her as he reaches to squeeze her hand. “We always prefer to be home with our family,” he assures her and then finds a way for them all to fit comfortably on the bed. “How about a story?” he asks Safiye, waiting for a nod or signal of agreement. He begins, “This is the story of how a Thief met a Smith and how they became friends and eventually… fell in love.” He smiles at Jet and then begins a very simple version of how they met that fateful day years and years (and more) ago, how a small white dog agreed the black haired woman was special, and how the Thief conned the Smith into tolerating his presence on more than one occasion. By the time he finishes, he notices Safiye’s fallen asleep as has Khyrisan on his chest. “It’s a good life,” he murmurs to Jet as he presses his lips against her hair. And he settles to talking softly with her, not wanting to wake the kids, but unable to sleep with the many plots they have to begin unfolding around them.

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