Logs:Advice for Ali
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| RL Date: 1 January, 2012 |
| Who: Ali, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali seeks K'del out for advice over Fort's Boll situation. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 8, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'thei/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern. It's a hot summer's afternoon, and for once, Ali's wearing something appropriate to the weather, a pale yellow sundress that looks crinkled enough that it was possibly dragged out of the back of her closet. She's without her knot, and stands kind of uncertainly in the midst of the cavern, looking this way and that. She gets a few curious looks, the longer she stands there, and eventually steps towards the bartender, trying to get his attention. Isyath's greeting of the watchdragon on the star stones is loud, and noticeable - the young Fortian gold always happy to be noticed - and she touches down just long enough for her rider to divest herself of her flying gear before she lifts off to investigate the warm thermals rising up above this very-different Weyr. Cadejoth is a dragon who keeps close tabs on the comings and goings to his weyr, and though he does not immediately acknowledge the young Fortian queen, he certainly notices her. He waits until she's launched herself back into the air before extending a rattling tendril of thought, and along with it a, « Isyath. Be welcome in my weyr. » Mine. He must have made comment to his rider, too, because by the time the bartender has turned his attention on to Ali and, smilingly, asked for her preference, the blond-haired Weyrleader is lazing up behind her - shoeless, knotless, with an untucked blue shirt the colour of his eyes and a pair of dark trousers. "Whisky, thanks, Markin." And then, turning his gaze onto Ali herself, "Welcome back to the 'Reaches, Ali." Ali is just in the midst of awkwardly explaining her situation to the bartender, which is, frankly, might well be something he's used to from holder girls: "I was uh, after the um- Weyrleader. I didn't really want to disturb him-" or, you know, warn him, apparently. Except that he's right behind her, and she practically leaps at his voice. She hadn't gotten as far as committing to an actual drink, and so she just kind of- gives a slight nod as if in agreement with K'del's choice. "Thank you, sir. Duties to the Reaches her her queens," she says, offering a brief curtsy out of pure habit if nothing else. "I- um. I'm not interrupting." Her gaze goes to his casual state, widening particularly at the lack of shoes. Markin is sympathetic, as all good bartenders ought to be, but that doesn't mean his expression can't lift when K'del himself shows up with such convenient timing. "Whisky it is," he confirms, turning away to tend to the drinks, while K'del draws up alongside Ali, leaning casually against the bar. Her curtsey seems to both please and amuse him, for all that he says, firmly, "And ours to Fort, of course. No interruption-- Cadejoth saw Isyath, mentioned it, and I thought I'd come and say hello. It's too nice a day to be stuck doing reports, even out in the sun, don't you think?" He's utterly relaxed, for once, even to the point of being largely oblivious to her reaction to his shoeless state. Ali chews on her lower lip for a moment, then her gaze lifts. His casualness seems to have thrown her, somewhat. "It's definitely not a day for writing reports," she agrees, finally, summoning a smile. "Would you mind- could we talk for a bit?" Isyath is happy to acknowledge Cajedoth's ownership of the Weyr, though it's more mental than verbal. Either way, her gleeful, curious explorations of the 'Reaches skies is brightly audible to those 'listening'. From his position against the bar, K'del watches Ali in a casually thoughtful kind of way until she smiles. Then, his own smile brightens and he straightens, offering her his arm. "Of course we could. Hope it's nothing too dire, on a day like this, but..." He gives her a sidelong glance, already beginning to lead her (unless, of course, she protests) towards one of the more private booths towards the back of the bar. "Perhaps that's too much to hope. You're well though, I hope? You and Isyath? Settling in to your newish position well?" The fact that Ali doesn't immediately reassure him that it /isn't/ dire probably speaks volumes. As does the uncertain pause before she accepts his offer of an arm. She's more than happy to let the Reachian lead the way, slipping into one side of the booth and smoothing down her dress in an awkwardly self-conscious way that suggests she's not used to wearing dresses at all. "I'm- I'm well. Issy, too," she reassurances, with that familiar, warm smile that appears at the mention of her dragon. As for her position- there's a hesitation there. "It's- it's a lot to get used to," she says, visibly uncomfortable. "How about your new junior?" very possibly she hasn't heard the rumors about where Iolene was placed in the wings. K'del's got an unreadable expression on his face, one that nonetheless suggests he's not entirely thrilled with the potential for direness in this conversation. It clears, though, once he's settled in opposite her, his legs carefully position so as not to come in contact with hers, despite their length. "Glad to hear it," he tells her, firmly, followed by a, "Suppose it is. Know it was for me-- being Weyrleader, I mean. Guess I don't know what it's like for a goldrider, really." Mention of Iolene draws visible hesitation, and enough awkwardness that he seems genuinely relieved when Markin crosses towards them, bearing drinks. It's only after the bartender has left again, and K'del has his fingers around his glass that he says, "Iolene is-- working with the crafthalls, and other external relationships. She's doing well." Ali is unaware of the evasiveness, suitably distracted by the arrival of the drinks. Politely, she curls her fingers around the glass, and takes a sip. The liquid is probably stronger than anything she's used to, judging by the abrupt watering of her eyes and the cough that follows. When she finally recovers enough to speak, her voice is rough, "That's- that's good. I'm sorry I didn't- I was going to come and talk with her." But she hasn't been back since that /incident/ in K'del's old weyr. She doesn't linger on that thought, however: "Did you... have you heard what happened at the Southern Boll gather, sir?" The cough, and even the sound of Ali's voice, afterwards, makes K'del wince; he looks apologetic. Before answering anything else she has to say, he's hasty in noting, "I can get you something else if you'd prefer it. Something, uh... softer." He doesn't wait for a response, though. One hand runs through his short-cropped curls, the other remains snugly about his glass. Quietly; "It's okay. I... understand. I--" He breaks off, nodding, as though he'd half expected what Ali's purpose here might have been. "Yeah. We heard. It's," he hesitates. "Surprising? More like something would happen with my Weyrwoman than yours." The flush that suffuses Ali's features has as much to do with K'del's latter comment as it does with the alcohol. She lets her glass go, which could be wordless acceptance of K'del's offer, fingers tugging through her hair as a distraction. "I- I wanted to ask you. About Crom. There were some notes in our records about what happened, but I thought- maybe you had some advice? Not that... I don't think it'll come to that," she says, hastily, though it could be optimism more than anything else. "-but I thought it, would be useful to know." "Crom," repeats K'del, in a voice that is heavy with all kinds of things, none of them good. As he speaks, he lifts a hand to click his fingers - something few others would probably be able to get away with in a bar like this, but it seems to work. "Crom was before my time. Twelve turns ago? Fifteen? You'd have to talk to some of our former Weyrleaders to get the exact details. But..." He trails off, examining the dark liquid in his glass before continuing. "The Crom stuff happened during the Comet Pass, and that made it different. This time? Boll doesn't need you. They could hire someone else for their basic transport needs and be perfectly happy until the next Pass. Crom played us and Telgar off each other, more or less. You can't let them do that to you." While Ali is not always particularly nuanced with the skills of reading people, it'd be difficult even for her to miss that heavy tone in K'del's voice. She bites her lower lip at that suggestion, though that appears only an aid to remembering, "N'thei? R'hin?" Apparently the time spent buried in Fort's records isn't all ill-spent. Her eyes widen, however, as K'del speaks. "But- who else would accept them? They're beholden to us." A savvy individual would make the link. Would maybe even imply or insinuate that High Reaches themselves might take advantage. However, the thought never even occurs to the dark-haired Fortian. "I- I don't know how to help fix this. Or even whether I /should/ get involved." Before K'del has time to respond - though he does give both names a nod - Markin is back, allowing the Weyrleader to order something 'suitably fruity' for Ali-- without giving her the chance to jump in with anything else. It's after that, his gaze returning to her, that he says, "The way I hear it, they may not be beholden to anyone, at the moment. What weyr wouldn't want to earn a few more marks here and there, more tithes, by helping out? A business arrangement." He won't say it outright, though his expression is full of implication. "On your own? No. You're not savvy enough with the politics yet, are you, really? Personally, I'd say your Weyrwoman should stay out of it, leave it to your Weyrleader. I'd offer to help him, if anything. But--" K'del shakes his head. "Don't know either of them well enough, or Lord Boll, to be able to properly judge the situation." Ali looks quietly grateful at the amended drink order, murmuring a thank you to Markin and offering a polite smile. The Fortian weyrwoman looks distinctly pale at the picture K'del paints. "It was- it was a misunderstanding," she says, although the unevenness of her voice suggests she's more trying to convince herself of that than saying it with any certainty. "I- I don't really know our Weyrleader any better," she admits, chewing her lower lip. "We- we don't cross paths very often. I'm not sure what he will do." Her gaze settles on the bronzerider, questioning, "How would- if it were you, how would you fix it for your Weyrwoman?" K'del is very hasty in his, "Of course it was." A misunderstanding. "Don't want you to think that I think badly of your Weyrwoman. These things--" He shakes his head; his expression has turned rueful. He understands. Before answering the rest, he takes a careful sip of his own drink, letting the whisky linger on his tongue for several seconds before he swallows. "I--" he breaks off. "If it were me, I guess, I'd go for humility. Send a note asking for an opportunity to rebuild relations. Just me and the Lord, mind. Suspect they'll probably want things from you, if they accept. Lessened tithes. More services. Hard to know, exactly." "Either way, it doesn't end well for us," is what Ali concludes out of that, with a sigh. "I'd hoped, maybe, with Crom, there was something. In the charter, maybe, something that forced them back. But I guess it was different, when Thread was falling." While he sips the drink, her gaze remains on him, perhaps impressed by his ability to do so in such an elegant manner, especially compared to hers. "I- I didn't even mention. I heard Rielsath went up. Congratulations on the clutch, sir." K'del can't argue with that conclusion, though from his expression, he probably wishes he could. Ali's drink arrives, then, presented to her with a flourish: it's an impressive looking glass. Examining his own, K'del admits, "With Crom, well-- we still share coverage with Telgar. Not sure it really worked out all that well for us that time, either. Moral of the story is: play nice with your holds." Which obviously pains him. Of Rielsath, at least, he can smile: "Thank you. Looks like a decent clutch; we're pleased. Still getting used to having enough queens that we've clutches on a more regular basis. Not sure if the weyrling staff approve. Are they watching your Isyath intently, at Fort? Or should I be avoiding that topic for your comfort?" Ali murmurs her thanks for the drink, looking somewhat overwhelmed by the size. At least until she takes a sip. "What if they don't always play nice with you?" the Fortian junior asks, a hint of a smile in the question, like she doesn't exactly expect an answer. The topic of golds, and her own in particular, flusters her, though she manages mostly evenness: "Everyone's watching her. Myself included," she admits, with no small discomfort. "Elaruth tends to rise every Turn, I guess everyone thought Isyath would take after her? I'm- I'm glad she didn't, actually," she confesses in a low, embarrassed voice. "I direct Tiriana's punches towards wall, instead of the Holder in question," is K'del's quick and none-too-serious answer to that question that doesn't need an answer. He lets it drop, not trying to put anything more realistic into words, and concentrates instead on sipping from his drink. "Elaruth rises surprisingly often for an Interval queen," he remarks. "Maybe Isyath will decide she doesn't need to do it anywhere near as often, as a result." There's sympathy in his expression, twinned with encouragement. He lifts his glass, evidently intending a toast: "To a first flight that is as un-awkward and easy as it is possible to be." The toast itself earns a somewhat awkward grimace, though that doesn't stop Ali lifting her glass and then taking a generous gulp from the fruity drink. "One can only hope," she murmurs in agreement after she lowers her glass, flush still coloring her cheeks. "Do they do that, you think? Adjust around each other's schedules?" she's intrigued by the notion. "I- sorry. I shouldn't be taking up your time. You're very kind to indulge me, sir." That his toast has made her uncomfortable seems to discomfort K'del in turn; his expression is apologetic. "I'm sorry," he says, not qualifying his words in any way. "Too nice a day to be writing reports, like I said. It's-- really no problem. We all have to take time away from our work, don't we?" Which is to say, he's making no move to leave. Besides, he's still got the rest of his whisky and presumably hers, too, to drink. "Think they do, yeah, to answer your question. They tend to rise as often as they need to, and, well, when was the last time a queen other than Elaruth had a clutch at Fort?" Awkward pause, as he answers that one for himself and looks guilty. "Well, anyway. With two producing queens, there should be less need." There's a quick shake of head from the young weyrwoman, as if to dismiss the need for an apology. "If Elaruth keeps rising, maybe she'll never have a need to." Somehow, Ali draws this conclusion from K'del's friendly advice, and she looks like she'd be happy for the reprieve. As for the niceness of the day, she says, "Issy would like to head down south, get a good scrubbing then nap in the warm sands before it gets dark." That's clearly not what K'del was getting at with his words, but he lets it go: he smiles. "Could be," he agrees. He gives her a casual glance as she makes her excuses, but nods, rising to his feet. "Can't pass up weather like this, I'm sure. Enjoy your afternoon, Ali. Don't-- worry too much about things. They'll work themselves out, one way or another. Just. Don't let them leave it forever, okay?" Because, well. High Reaches might not be able to resist stepping in. Ali tries, she really does - but she can't quite finish off that drink, lack of alcohol or no. Instead, she rises, awkwardly brushing her dress down. "Thank you, sir. I- I will. I hope you do, too." She bites her lower lip, briefly, but nods at his parting advice, taking it relatively in stride. Probably because she completely misses the implication, there. With a wiggle of fingers, she's making her way back out to the bowl, where her dragon is landing to meet her. Isyath offers Cadejoth an image of the bright-white cove where they're headed. Teasing, maybe? But that's unlike her. It's more likely to be a subtle sort of invitation, instead, as they vanish into the skies above the Reaches. "K'del," corrects the bearer of that name, but only once Ali is on her way out; he watches her go, expression more amused than thoughtful, this time. Then, he has drinks to finish. Cadejoth, meanwhile, leans into that image, envy written all over his tone-- and a note of disappointment, too, of duties unmentioned and presences required. Another time. Isyath is, as is her want, undeterred. Throughout the afternoon, she shares various images - the sensation of the hot sand beneath her talon, the crisp coolness of the blue waters, and the warmth of the hot sun on her skin. Since Cadejoth can't join, she'll do the next best thing. Isyath? Totally Cadejoth's new best friend. And so, he leans into those images, enjoying them to the fullest. |
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