Logs:Aftermath - Commiseration
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| RL Date: 24 January, 2013 |
| Who: K'del, Z'ian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Commiseration and planning the day after the dual goldflight. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, A'son/Mentions, N'thei/Mentions |
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| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr(#267RJs) Polished marble and granite surfaces, gleaming metalwork and pale woods characterize the vaulted fastness of the kitchen. Several large hearths gape red-mouthed against the outer wall of the cavern, their fires almost always stoked for the constant cooking the Weyr requires to feed its denizens. Sinks line the wall to one side of the hearths, providing ample space to wash large quantities of dishes, while to the other, cabinetry and a deep pantry provide storage space for items commonly needed on a day-to-day basis. The remaining wall space is taken up by passageways and extra seating: swinging doors that lead variously to the main living cavern, the inner caverns and the storage rooms, a counter-height pass-through for food service to the Snowasis, and a series of nooks equipped with tables and benches for quick, out-of-the-way meals any time of day.
It's been a long, confusing day, and K'del has largely been keeping his head low, though he's had time for quiet conversations with a few key people, here and there. Evidently, eating on the quiet - instead of in the busier living caverns - is part of his big plan, whatever it is, and that's why he fetches himself some food in the kitchens, heading for one of the unoccupied nooks. Partway there, he stops: he's seen Z'ian, and his expression is horrified. "Fuck," he says, sliding in across from the other rider without so much as a by-your-leave. "You going to live, there?" Z'ian stops to rub his jaw at one point, chewing slowly on the remainder of his sandwich. He registers only marginal surprise when K'del slides in across the booth from. He hazards a slow smile. "They tell me that I'm going to recover and be just as handsome after the swelling goes down." Brushing his hands off, he leans back in the booth. None of it's done with a lot of ease, he's dealing with the morning after aches and pains of having your ass handed to you. Looking the other rider over speculatively, "What about you? I hear we're right fucked at the moment." "Weyr should be celebrating, then - no doubt the ladies'll look forward to the return of that handsome face of yours," says K'del, who doesn't quite manage to sell the tease, given the deep furrows of his brow and his obvious exhaustion. He sets his plate down, using it as an opportunity to formulate his words before actually saying them. "I-- we're right fucked. That sums it up pretty well, doesn't it? Fucking Szadath. If he hadn't--" He stops, blowing air out of his cheeks. "Not sure it really counts, though. Really. You can't have two Weyrleaders, two Senior Weyrwomen. If no one went first, then no one's in charge, surely." "Yeah, they're prepping for the party right now. You're invited too, I can't take care of all those women by myself. No matter how handsome I am." Any other day and he'd be giving K'del his most cocksure and ridiculous smile. Instead it's just a weak waggle of his eyebrows, that's probably about all his face can manage pain free. He takes a breath and shakes his head. "I'm fucking sorry, K'del. Szadath, we should have kept a better eye on him. We didn't think." The defeat is there with him too, he's sharing some of the responsibility for this. "What the hell was Brieli doing out there? And H'kon?" There's a pause where Z'ian begins to chew on his lower lip. "No, no one is in charge. Until someone takes advantage of the situation, once the dust settles." K'del's smirk is half-hearted, though he aims for cheerful with his, "Be there with bells on," reply. More important is the sharp, determined shake of his head in reply to the rest of what Z'ian has to say. "Not-- no need. It happened. Didn't even think he'd try that kind of shit. The whole thing was a fucking mess. More important is what happens now." It's possible he meant more by his 'no one's in charge' statement than the obvious, but for now, he doesn't push the point. "Browns shouldn't be Weyrleaders. Cadejoth won't follow either of them. Far as he's concerned, they were junior flights only. It-- I'm not going to let Taikrin destroy this Weyr." He begins to shake his head again, thinking of the whole sorry incident. Clearly frustrated, he rakes his fingers through his hair and stares balefully over at K'del. "What about H'kon? I don't know him well enough but..." Z'ian doesn't feel the same way about him as he does about the other brownrider. "Do you think that your golriders would let her destroy this weyr?" He asks seriously, before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. There's yet another pause, another moment of thinking before he turns his attention back to the other bronzerider. "So what are you going to do stop her? Besides Cadejoth objecting." "H'kon's-- not a leader. My guess is he didn't want this; that he's horrified by it. You're right, though--" he backtracks, "No idea what H'kon was doing there. Brieli must've known Iesaryth was proddy. What was she playing at?" Questions are easier than answers; K'del drums his fingers on the table, ignoring his dinner in lieu of staring at it, focusing hard. "Don't trust Taikrin. She'll-- do what she likes. Walk all over them, if she needs to. It's not like they can fire her. Tiriana couldn't fire me." The words drop out one after another, faster and faster. "Protect the Weyr," is his answer. "And make sure that when one of them rises again, that counts as a senior flight, and the bronze who catches becomes Weyrleader." He looks up, finally. "People can say whatever they like about me, but I'm going to do everything I can to make sure their leadership isn't recognised." Z'ian looks troubled, he rakes his fingers through his hair again before dropping his hand heavily down onto the table. His knuckles didn't come out of the altercation unscathed, so that sort of hurts. Wincing mildly he clenches a fist. "Don't know, but she was playing a game. I don't think I trust her, K'del. That one is cold." What remains of his dinner is completely forgotten. "Seems like you should talk to H'kon. You say he's not a leader and if he's truly horrified then he wants an out to this. And- He was at that flight. He would know what really happened there, yeah?" He presses his lips tightly into a line. "You get him on your side then you're one brownrider down." Staring across at him, "You might not care what they think. But this will go down a lot easier if you have him. It'll be half your battle." K'del's long, low exhale is one of-- relief? Really? His nod is fractional, a tiny incline, and it comes accompanied with a: "I don't think I do, either. She's competent, efficient, and... there's something off. Think she'll put her own interests above the Weyr's, any time. Azaylia's less efficient, more uncertain, but she-- cares." He reaches for his fork, though still seems more inclined to poke at his food than actually eat it. "H'kon. Mm. You're right, of course. He's-- reckon he respected me more before I gave up my knot, and it may be he resents what I try and do now. But I do think he cares about the Weyr, and that's a start. I'll try." Beat. "Thank you. For... taking me seriously." "Azaylia trusts her, doesn't she? The question really is, would Brieli put her own interests above what's good for her friend? Is their relationship strong both ways? Or is it one sided?" The way Z'ian asks that, it's obvious that he doesn't have a damn clue what the answers really are. He doesn't seem to expect K'del knows either by the way he sighs at the end. "Again, I don't know him. But I figure he's about as lost as everyone else right about now. Show him the light, could be worth it. Even if he is a little resentful." His mouth twitches and he almost smiles. "In for an ounce, in for a pound? I figure I'll ride this out with you. What's the worst that happens, they make me a watchrider somewhere really cold?" Where could be colder than the place they're at now? But more seriously, "I don't know about Taikrin. H'kon. But I don't like this feeling that someone is trying to pull the wool over our eyes." Shaking his head, K'del abandons his fork again. "Think she trusts her. But-- I just don't know. What the motivations are, and why. Is Brieli going to try and take over, now? Wouldn't put it past her." His swallow is thick, heavily frustrated. He buries his face in his hands, breathing in for several seconds before he lets go again, and leans back against the chair behind him. "That's it, exactly. Doesn't feel right, none of this. So... we do what we have to. Whatever it takes. Find out the truth, and-- it can't last forever." His expression has returned to determined, his shoulders straightening. "Remind me not to punch Taikrin, when she starts trying to lord over me. Please? That's probably the last thing that'll help, right now." Z'ian prods at the bruised portion of his face, frowning. "Maybe she's the one that plans on rising out of the dust. Anyway, it's not like we've got any of the answers right now." It's probably subconscious because his fingers begin to poke at other parts of him that are damaged, testing. "Just a lot of suspicions. Well, fearless leader; let me know what the next thing we have to do is. Though I'm supposing passive resistance and objection is on the menu for the next couple of months. You provide the whiskey when we get our first watchrider posting out in the middle of nowhere." It's the spark of his usual humor, still in there somewhere behind the dejection that yesterday brought. He smiles crookedly at K'del, "I'll promise to try and keep you out of trouble. You want to blow of steam, we'll go somewhere else and do it. No knots." It's the 'fearless leader' that makes K'del smile, genuinely, for the first time in this conversation. "Passive resistance and objection; that pretty much sums it up. Good thing I didn't spend all my savings, in the end - there'll be whisky. I'll let you win at darts, too." Another long, low breath escapes, as the bronzerider turns his own smile, equally crooked, back on Z'ian. "Done deal." It's a moment later, while he's still considering the other bronzerider, that he wonders: "The other guy look as bad as you? H'vier, is my guess. Right?" "Thanks, I'll need to win at darts to prop up my self-esteem after this." Z'ian exhales and leans back in the booth. They may both be at the bottom of the heap right now but he doesn't seem to be so depressed. Misery loving company might have some positive benefits now and again. "Yeah, H'vier. I almost feel bad about it, it's not as if his dragon was asking for it or anything. He had a right to be pissed. Maybe I'll apologize when I can be sure he's not going to feel the urge to murder as soon as he sees my face." Then comes the shrug, a small tiny shrug. So nonchalant. "He looked bad to begin with, bruised already. And he doesn't look much better now? But I heard the healer saying something about come back if you piss blood." And so does the crooked smile, "I'm a youngest son. We fight dirty." Whisky or beer would probably add even more to this (less) miserable company, but K'del, too, seems more relaxed than he has been, and more focused. His chortle at the last of what Z'ian says is nearly gleeful as he says, "You and me both. Youngest sons have to have something to even the tables. And H'vier-- he's provocative at the best of times, s'far as I can see. Still, most violent flight I've ever been to, and fuck, we won Iovniath the first time because of a stabbing, however self-inflicted." Two youngest sons, discussing fighting dirty. Is this the right time for a bro-fist moment? As strange as it might seem to the rest of the people in the kitchens now, Z'ian replies with an enthusiastic, "Damn straight." and offers his clenched, bruised and scraped fist for K'del across the table. "Right, right. Who was that again? A'zay? A'su? A-something at any rate. I heard he really didn't want to win that flight." He laughs and shakes his head, dismay at that long ago memory dredged up again. "Worked out for you, more or less." He finally displays an easy smile and puts his hands down onto the table, splaying his fingers out against the surface. "Definitely a violent flight though. Reisoth seemed to come out of the flight alright, more than I can say for Tsanth. Caught a tear in his wing." It makes K'del laugh: genuine, and probably louder than is required, enough so that there'll be a few spectators when he brings his own fist up in return to bump Z'ian's. "A'son," he says, with the wry, twisted smile that suggests there's more reason than just a stabbing for him to remember that particular bronzerider. "Right. He didn't want to win it, and so... I won it. Surprised Tiriana ever forgave him. But yeah - no regrets on my part, not really." His wince, however, as he withdraws his fist, is genuine. "Ouch. It'll heal, though, right? No permanent damage? Cadejoth's tail'll be fine. Mostly just sore. He's... kinda sore in general." "A'son, yeah. Him and N'thei." It's all coming back to him now. He gives a quick shake of his head, pushing something there to the back of his mind. "I'm sure he was surprised too. Tiriana was a lunatic, thought we were on the long road to being better without her once she was gone." But then nothing is ever easy or so that ironic smile that he displays seems to say. "It should heal up just fine. He needs to take it easy and not stress the wing. And I- I swear that the stitches on his injury look just li- Nevermind. It's probably just me seeing something that isn't there." Z'ian purses his lips, he's still thinking about it. Whatever it is. "That's good to hear about Cadejoth. I thought you were going to pass out in the weyr." "Those two," agrees K'del, with a wry laugh. And Tiriana, for whom he can't laugh, his expression darkening in a way that probably is partially to do with the former Weyrwoman, and partially to do with everything that has happened since. It makes him look exhausted, all over again. "Good, go-- no, go on. Tell me. What do you think they look like?" He pushes, brows raising, managing to look more focused again. "I wanted to. I was - it hurt. The surprise, and the pain. After the two of you got knocked out, I tried to get Cadejoth to push Hraedhyth towards Leiventh, but-- no luck." So: Szadath. He sighs, stretching out his shoulders with lazy rolling gestures. Z'ian furrows his eyebrows, glancing down at the table and then up again at K'del. Like he's deciding if he even really wants to say this. "Leova patched him. I think she stitched her initials into my dragon." It comes out quickly, followed fast by, "But I mean, maybe not. He was moving around a lot, it could just be coincidence. It's not like he'll sit still for me to look at it anyway." He exhales and taps one hand on the table. What the other bronzerider says has him staring hard, with one eyebrow lifting. "Push her towards Leiventh? Leiventh and R'hin? Because that guy did such a great job the last time he was the Weyrleader. He's been hiding at Monac-" He's been cutting himself off a lot tonight. This time it's with certainty. "Not that it matters now. Szadath." K'del can't help it: he lifts his hand towards his mouth to try and cover it, but his laughter is still obvious. "Leova," he says, around the barrier of his hand - and then he shakes his head. "Trust her." His exhale, after that, is a more serious one. "He cares about High Reaches, at least. He's-- I don't know. Trust him more than I trust Taikrin. But yeah. Not that it matters, now." With another sigh, he pushes his plate away, and glances back at Z'ian. "Ought to get back to Cadejoth, I guess. Turns out I'm not hungry. See you soon, though, okay?" That laughter is so not comforting. His expression says it too as he continues to stare across the table at him. Eventually he just hangs his head and lets loose a long suffering sigh. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have let her touch him." Which while that possible initial on his lifemate might be bothering him, he's not quite outraged or anything close. On the subject of R'hin, Z'ian retreats to the old standby that he used to use before this hoopla of a flight. Silence. He declines to say anything else about their former Weyrleader. Instead he switches on the crooked grin, "You'll be hungry again. I'll see you around, good luck when you find H'kon." "Point," says K'del, as he slides along the seat and stands, grabbing his plate to return to the poor kitchen staff. Of R'hin, he can only shrug and add, even if Z'ian hasn't said anything, "Not that I remember his leadership, really. Before my time. But-- Mm. Yeah. Hungry again. Thanks. See you later, Z'ian." And off he goes, into the evening. |
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Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Fri, 25 Jan 2013 02:23:23 GMT.
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Dooooooom.
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