Logs:Assistant Head-something
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| RL Date: 22 October, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, Tajent |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tajent has dinner. And a request. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 1, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Rank certainly has its privileges, and among them are amply appointed apartments. The short flight of stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex opens up into the larger of two chambers, formally decorated and clearly designed to cater as much to important guests as the occupant's personal living. Old, but obviously expensive, llama wool rugs dyed blue-and-black cover the stone floor, leading towards the second chamber, the stairs, and the rush-filled dragon couch and ledge beyond it. A formal seating arrangement - a sofa and chairs, all blue-and-black - sits around a large, tiled fireplace, whilst along the other wall, a finely made, if now somewhat antique, desk sits between a bookshelf and a tall cupboard to which tack-hooks have been attached, riding gear arranged neatly inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendour for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl, and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside. The inner weyr, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area, is smaller and cosier and distinctly less ostentatious. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels. Iolene's out with 'the girls' tonight, whoever that refers to, and the boys are with their mothers. No doubt K'del could have organised something with his own friends to keep him entertained for the evening, but he's chosen not to. Instead, it's that old story of a bronzerider, a roaring fire, a glass of whisky... and a book. And dinner for one, though a recently jammed dumbwaiter means more work for the kitchen staff in delivering it. That's not an immediate concern for K'del, though, who has dug his toes into the cushions of the couch he's stretched out so lazily on, and who is apparently entranced in the leather-bound volume propped up on his knees. In walks his dinner, or at least, a sizeable clasped case makes its way up to the ledge, briskly borne by a young man with a knitted hat pulled down over his ears. Its sherpa may not be one of the usual kitchen crew, but he carries the case with aplomb as though everything really were all right with the world... and, if nothing else, there aren't any damp marks on his knees from managing the slippery stairs. He does not stomp, and neither does he sneak. He's supposed to be there, surely. "Sir?" he more says than asks from the entrance, smiling. "Dinner. Roast again." Like that's a good thing. "Oh, excellent," says K'del, without glancing up from his book. "Just bring it in--" It's a belated realisation, it must be, that has him looking up and seeking out the new arrival and what is visible of his face. The book gets set aside (face up, but still open) and his feet drawn out from beneath the cushion; it looks as though he's about to get up. "Didn't think kitchen duties were your usual thing, Tajent. I am sorry you had to be sent to deliver it up yourself." Even if it's not presently snowing; even if the weather could be a whole lot worse. The wave of Tajent's hand is supremely efficient: no, no, stay. He's got it. See, he's got a mitten off and unclasping the hooks to the side, so that the case's legs slide into place, their crosses supporting the whole deal... and if he's practiced it five or more times before he ever got there, why, K'del doesn't need to know about that. "The woman who passed the job on to me, she said as how it'd put hair on my chest, sir. Wouldn't dream of disbelieving her." More deft motions, assuming K'del doesn't interrupt and set Taj's carefully-laid plans in disarray, lead to opening the case itself and getting through the towels to their brick-warmed contents. He starts to speak, then checks with the older man: everything all right? K'del is unquestionably awkward for this whole sit-back-and-be-served thing (still!), but he does as he's bidden: feet on the floor, back straight, hands pressed awkwardly idle to each side of his thighs. "Hair on your chest, huh," he repeats, watching Tajent as he works. "Well, if that's what you're after..." One hand lifts, waving expansively: everything's fine, perfectly fine. Clearly. His, "Eggs on the sand again soon," is quietly hesitant. "S'what she said," Taj answers, his genial tone relaxed that much more, now. "And she has sixteen grandkids'n seven great-grands, so I got to take her word for it, right?" There's roast, there are vegetables, and for the Weyrleader, fresh-baked rolls that don't just have cheese on top, they have cheese in the patterns of dainty flowers. It's what everyone else eats, and yet... it's not. The wine, kept in what turns out to be his knapsack and a quality that can handle a small amount of jostling, is better too. "They say it's a good sign, a hatching," when they're not saying it's a bad sign, brown-caught, or wondering if this clutch too will disappear. "I did congratulate the weyrwoman, though don't know if she heard, she was pretty busy, was Lujayn. Didn't want to step right up'n make her feel awkward maybe, though. You neither." Seeing as how K'del's put it out there, and he gives the man a wry smile: maybe K'del does have hair on his chest, after all. All that talking, and K'del's just there to listen: listen, with an expression caught between an amused smile and genuine interest, though there's the occasional note of bewilderment, too. "I'm sure Lujayn appreciated the sentiment," he assures the younger man, focusing in on this easiest-to-access conversational thread. "Appreciates, even. Even if she's busy. It's not as though we need enormous clutches, or more queens, after all. Four's more than enough for an Interval Weyr." The food, well, K'del must be used to receiving this kind of fare, but he still gives it an appreciative smile. "Will you Stand again?" More talking, more food: two small containers of differently-spiced spreads, "As y'say, sir. I won't say as I haven't wondered about the place gettin' overridden, did things continue that way," and a not quite as small dish with fruit sauce over a gelled cream sweet, to which Taj adds a dusting of finely-chopped mint and sweet-dream. "As to Standing, I don't know as it's a matter of my choosing, sir. Hoping it is because I do like options, but I don't rightly know. Think you would have done it again, if Cadejoth hadn't found you, or you him?" There should be a 'if you don't mind me asking," but Taj continues on, light. "I was thinking as maybe I could be of a different sort of help." There's something unreadable in K'del's expression, now, as he considers Tajent, giving the young man his attention above and beyond the food being laid out. It's that last remark he tackles first, with what certainly appears to be genuine interest. "A different sort of help? Got your eye on something, then?" Not that he finishes with that, not when he can add, "Reckon I might've. If my pride hadn't been too hurt, at any rate. I was... I had a bit of an ego on me, when I was fifteen." Unlike the one he has now, something he acknowledges (faintly) with a twist of his mouth. "We'd invite you to Stand again, if it was what you wanted. Unless you'd rather... whatever it is." Under that appraisal, Tajent doesn't flex his muscles or anything, but his competence? Oh yes. The napkin even proves to be nicely folded, right before he steps back with a confirming nod... a nod that's followed by a rolling, unself-conscious chuckle for K'del's tale. "Won't say my pride wasn't bent any, for certain." But he can laugh at it now! See? "So, it's Interval and all, and there's bound to be people wanting to get to be a dragonrider. Thing is, you might remember," said as easily as anyone might remind their superior of something clearly beneath their notice, "my da raised me t'be steward after him, so I've got that training. Not everyone's going to have that. No steward here, so I've been making myself useful for the headwoman in particular when I could, like to think I have at least. So I was thinking, maybe I'd ask her if she'd care to make that formal. If you don't think that would rock the barge too much." If nothing else, all that should give K'del some time to eat... along with something else to chew on. K'del says nothing about the presentation of the meal, unless of course you count his expression, and that approving nod: he seems pleased. It's after he's settled himself properly in front of the meal, and picked up his knife and fork that he pauses again, and this time it's to listen to what Tajent has to say - and admittedly, it's less pause than a shifting of attention from the food he's still cutting up to the younger man himself. A nod marks confirmation of Tajent's father, whether or not he actually remembered that much; another nod, visibly approving, for making himself useful. But it's the last remark that has his knife stopping, mid-cut, and his expression turning very thoughtful indeed. "Like... as an Assistant Headwom-- Headman?" he asks, neither audibly approving nor disapproving. Tajent's hands link behind his back where, if they must twist, they can do so in peace. Perhaps the loose folds of his shirtsleeves will hide any corresponding shifts of muscle in his forearms. "That's the trick," he says easily, not looking down. "I'd just as soon as not be called a woman, if only so's my granny wouldn't wonder if I was going to put on skirts next, you know? Assistant Headman, would the headwoman feel like she was being called a man? I don't know. Headwoman's Assistant, it's neutral, a little unwieldy maybe. Either of the last two seem like they would work, if she'd like. I can be plenty picky about inventories, but don't need to fuss about that." It's that last statement, that reference to inventories that has K'del smiling so brightly, so suddenly. Inventories! As his fork stabs at a piece of the roast, his chin remains lifted to allow he to continue his regard. "Don't imagine she'd much like the suggestion of being a man," he agrees. "Or you, a woman. Imagine Headwoman's Assistant would work, but I guess that would be up to her, really." He chews, pausing in his reply for as long as it takes to swallow. But when he's done - "Can't see as it would cause a problem; seems like the main thing is that you can do the job, and I don't think there's much doubt about that. I'd be--" A pause. His expression is rueful. "Happy to support you in it, if that's what you're after. Tajent. Truly." Tajent's face just isn't meant for scowling, even the put-on type of scowl that's mostly entertained. "You say that as though nobody else does." And there's the real grin, right back. "All right." He's nodding too. "Jus' wanted to make sure you'd wouldn't mind. I appreciate that. And... don't worry, I'm not going to waltz in there all, 'Headwoman, ma'am? The Weyrleader says you've got a new right-hand man, like it or lump it, an' did I mention my da trained me so I know everything better'n you.'" The impertinent tone drops away. "There'll be a lot to do, anyway, if it's at all like last time, what with people coming in for the eggs and everything, tithes later, the world turns 'round. There'll be things the others maybe won't be so keen on doing. We'll see how it goes." He's got an eye out for K'del's getting through his meal, for how he seems to be stomaching the food as well as these ideas: whether the man seems set to have the case taken away soon... or to be left to finish food and book in peace. K'del's brows knit, but only for a moment: after that, he's all smiles again, amused by Tajent's remarks in a light, casual kind of way. "Good to hear it. Not," he's quick to add, "that I'd expect anything less of you. You've always seemed to have a good head on those shoulders." More thoughtful, however, is his added, "Not sure there'll be Candidates from outside this time, not much. Isn't likely to be a big clutch, but perhaps she'll surprise us all. But there's always work to be done." His fork hovers hover his food, his gaze focused back on Tajent. "Leave it all," he says. "I'll take it back across when I'm finished. Or... in the morning, at the latest. You can tell the Headwoman I support your interest. If she wants a... reference or something. I don't know." Something. "No? Fewer unknowns, then," Taj offers, clear surprise altering to comfortably professional calculation. A dip of his head addresses the Weyrleader's choice to fend for himself, too, though if the case does get left behind until the cleaning drudges show up, it will undoubtedly be tidied even so. "Thanks again, sir. If you ever need to find something quick like, if it goes the way we want anyhow, you know where to find me." He grins at the man, takes a last appreciative look at the man's expansive weyr, and eases on out to approach the woman in question... provided he finds her in a good mood. K'del doesn't remark on the surprise, and nor does he have an obvious reaction to it, but it's there, beneath, just barely visible: a sudden quiet intensity, an increased thoughtfulness. "Fewer unknowns," he agrees. "No surprises. Just the way we like it." A moment's hesitation has him watching the young man as he moves to go, but K'del has one more thing to say, to follow him out: "You're welcome, Tajent. And if there's ever anything else I can do for you..." But for now, there's dinner to eat, and that book to get back to - at least until Iolene gets home. |
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