Logs:Don't Be Dense
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| RL Date: 6 June, 2013 |
| Who: Aishani, C'wlin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, High Reaches Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: C'wlin gets the chance to explain himself to Aishani; Aishani gets the change to find out what the weyrlings found at High Reaches Hold. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 12, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quielle/Mentions, N'gan/Mentions, N'hax/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Leova/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr Tucked off the back of the training room, the barracks are a huge, high cavern that stretches far back into the stone of the Weyr. Both of the longer walls are lined with couches for the dragons, enough for a couple of Pass-sized clutches at once, each matched with a cot and press for the weyrling dragonrider. In this day and age, however, the couches in the back have been allowed to grow dusty with long disuse. Hearths are spaced between every few couches to heat the big room. For decoration, there are a number of tapestries on the walls, looking almost as beat-up as the couches out in the training room, but scattered flower pots with their bright blooming contents provide a cheery touch. Additionally, some of the couches have had graffiti scratched into them over the Turns that were never quite cleaned off: smears of chalk messages or even rough pictures, some not fit for young eyes. In many cases names and dates have been painstakingly carved into the rock, a record of those that once made their home here. It's been days and days since the incident at High Reaches Hold; over a week since punishment has come down and announcements were made before the Weyr, and restrictions were made. Probably it seems like much longer with limited rations to deal with and a barracks to share with a pregnant weyrling and another that knocked her up. Awkward! Those other weyrlings aren't there right now, though - and perhaps that's what brings the Weyrwoman along into the barracks, after so very many days where she hasn't come to lecture or yell or seek information or... anything, really. Aishani is as well-dressed as ever, jacket done up against the cold and fur collar raised as she steps in and looks around as if it's been some time. It probably has. C'wlin is seemingly passing the time doing nothing, lying on his back on a rush-strewn couch with his hands held up to form a triangle in the space between thumbs and forefingers with one eye squinted shut. It wouldn't be hard to find out that this is the downtime between when they //learn// between and when they get shuffled to the barracks while the rest of the group gets to //go// between. So C'wlin, seemingly, is amusing himself by looking at something up on the ceiling. Doot, doot, doot. The rationing of food can be seen in the thinness of face and the cut of clothing that's just a shade too big again. That and the muscles that play beneath skin shedding the subcutaneous fat. The bronzerider looks bored out of his mind. Aishani's arrival earns a lethargic turn of his head before -- against his initial desire -- pushing to his feet and brushing off the straw that clings to cloth. "Weyrwoman," he states, formal, quiet. This lack of industry immediately apparent doesn't seem to please Aishani by her initial reaction - there's an arch of fine brows - really? - then a purse of lips as she regards the weyrling bronzerider with a dark, even gaze. "C'wlin." She doesn't ask if he doesn't have something better to do, but it's there in the way she glances around the barracks sharply as she walks in, looking for dust or dirt or disarray. And instead of asking any questions or making any accusations, she simply clasps hands behind her back and - standing to her full height - stops in front of the younger man to give him an expectant look. Well? Left to cool their heels while their fellows get to caper around Pern means C'wlin's chin comes up a notch at that look at his apparent idle-time. Earned or no, he's a young man who's got energy and it chafes. "Aishani." Tone quiet, still, though respectful. He's not entirely politically suicidal. This is when having the Weyrwoman be taller than you really puts you at a disadvantage, shown in the slight tightening of his expression, though he's got enough pride to not back down. Do shoulders straighten? Back lengthen as much as possible? You can bet your bottom mark! "I'm no longer a Harper." Maybe not what she wanted to hear, but it's where he chooses to start. There's a brow arch for that lift of chin too, a quirk of lips - again, something of that 'really?' air about Aishani, as she tilts her head to one side and regards the weyrling, at least stopping far off enough that she's not looking completely down on him. She'll give him that little favor. As for where he chooses to start, well - she doesn't look shocked, that's for sure. Loosing hands merely to fold arms before her, "You can't say that was a surprise to you? Though the status of crafters post-impression is still very much a question in these times, I can completely see where the Hall is coming from." In point of fact, it is a surprise! Was, anyway. C'wlin might have had visions of playing both hands and still maintaining something with his craft. Now it's dashed upon -- anyway, he manages to answer neutrally, "Nothing much is a surprise, no. But it is a fact." The weyrling manages to keep himself from shuffling his feet or fidgeting (too over much) but he does keep an eye on the goldrider's movements. "We didn't mean," pause to consider, "for this." Or really: they didn't mean to get caught. "I don't imagine it's irreparable. But as a weyrling that's harper-trained, you must know how much rides on appearances, and how things must appear for the Crafts involved, to say the least of the Weyr. That is," Aishani adds, "I don't imagine your relationship with the Hall is irreparable." The rest, she leaves uncommented on. The weyrwoman isn't one for fidgeting or moving much, and really, she's not uncomfortable standing as she is. She seems as if she has all the time in the world. However, his last brings a sharp, humorless laugh. "I imagine you didn't. I'd expect you meant to come home heroes, explain the whole pirate attack, and get all our thanks. Not lose the tithe from High Reaches, which you may well have done. And that is not idle gossip or exaggeration. That is certainty." "Of course," C'wlin murmurs, standing straight and moving to clasp hands behind his back. Blue eyes hold still on some far off point, though do cast her a look every now and again, especially at the last. "Not heroes..." Is their plan sounding more and more like it was a bad one as time passes? Oh yeah. "Just --" He cuts himself off as the deed's done. "My apologies, Aishani." The boys will own their bad selves. Really. "For what we've cost the weyr." If he's not looking at her, Aishani will snap fingers in front of C'wlin's face, giving him a bewildered look. "Are you high? Because that's the only reason I can think not to listen at this point in time. And your apologies, ma'am, at the very least. We're not friends." She pauses to step back as take a look at the weyrling, dark eyes serious, head canted to one side before she asks, "Are you sorry? Do you understand what it is to go without? I wonder. If that tithe doesn't come, we'll all be in the same boat. Ironic that." A beat before, "Is what you found worth that, do you think?" It's the snap that breaks the neutral expression to show, briefly, the face of a boy lost. C'wlin isn't sure what to do in the face of what they've done. "My apologies, Weyrwoman, ma'am." The weyrling corrects himself quickly, and harshly, snapping eyes to the Acting Weyrwoman without delay. "I am." At the very least it's sincere, though it could as easily be sincere in the sorry of getting caught. "Is it worth that? I don't know, ma'am." Whatever else has been drilled into the boy, that respect and distance between Weyrling and Weyrwoman is clear. "What we learned is that the pirates were aiming to get something off the Tillek ship. The young boy Lord Devaki has with the pirates is no pirate, if I had to--" He reconsiders his words, "I do not believe the boy's a pirate. Something isn't adding up." On shaky ground, he does add: "We were caught too fast, ma'am. I understand we probably would have been caught anyway, but we were caught quicker than we... expected." It's the getting caught that Iesaryth seemed to be most irritated with - who's to say if that's reflective of her rider or not? Aishani is at least interested in listening - it's not like she's going to demand answers and then ignore them. Or at least, it seems that way. Dark gaze sharp on C'wlin's expression, she considers what he says for a few long moments before, "I wouldn't say that's worth a Turn's tithe from a Hold. But if something does come, perhaps you both can help us inventory it as well, to get an idea of how much is missing." There's a faint grimace and a set of her jaw as she just shakes her head. Pained, "If you expected to be caught, why do it?" She doesn't put a hand to her temples, but by her tone, it's a close thing. "I misspoke, Weyrwoman," C'wlin states, tone even. "I meant merely that I knew it was a possibility that we would get caught. We had a good plan. We did not expect to get caught." Beat. "Especially not so early." Again, he pauses, collecting thoughts. "The boy said they were there to get the loot, that something important was on board. The other pirates were trying to get the boy to not talk, so either it was practiced ploy or the boy was telling the truth." He falls silent again, holding Aishani's gaze, not daring to look away again. Patiently, "Do you think it's a job you should be doing if there's a possibility you'll get caught at it? Do you not think we have people to do that sort of thing, and times when we deem it more or less necessary? Do you think is really the question here. Do you think or think ahead or think of consequences for others." Aishani has the slightest pinched look on her features. She holds the bridge of her nose for a moment, eyes closed, before looking up again, nodding once. "That would be quite a lot of staging, all around," she agrees, wearily. "It eliminates some theories and raises other questions." C'wlin does not disagree with Aishani, but he also isn't going to grovel and beg, because it's obvious they didn't think and screwed up baaaaaaaaaad. His expression holds remorse for the actions taken, as in hindsight they are not smart, but the punishment is all around him. That, he's living, and living to the best he can! (With the hope that someday, they'll get taken pity on and let to graduate. Maybe. A boy can dream!) "It did not seem as if these 'pirates' were actually men involved in piracy." Pause. "Or if they were, they were there for whatever it is that boat held. But that's just my opinion." Which has proven to be FLAWED. Aishani doesn't look entirely certain on the level of remorse that C'wlin is displaying or holding back, but it's no as if she can really say that... and she's paranoid besides. She merely considers the information with a slow nod, then notes, "Fortunately, we are likely to have more than supposition to go on with regards to the provenance of the attackers. If they came from somewhere other than the 'high seas', I have every confidence that we'll hear word." She even makes little finger quotes for the pirate-term, but she doesn't elaborate on how the Weyr might do that or why she's confident. "What you found will be taken under advisement." Her tone makes it sound like it's a favor. She's certainly taken her time in getting to it. C'wlin stands, silent, still. "I hope the boy," wait -- is that caring in the icy harper's voice? "Makes it out of there alive." Devaki's dungeons? Must be so. Maybe he feels guilty. As for the information he relays making it to her consideration, he merely has a nod. Much like standing before Quinlys and Leova, he's being a verrrrry good boy here. "I do not believe that he intends to execute any of them from our discussions, but believe me when I say that nothing is certain at this point. I assume nothing about our relationship with the Hold now." And by the weight of her gaze, Aishani seems to lay at least part of that blame on C'wlin. "I feel quite unable to influence the Lord on this young man's behalf, but if you're concerned for his health, perhaps the Weyrhealer might be informed?" She arches a fine brow the bronzerider's way. It's at least something he can do? Though it might be the only thing as she adds, "Any further involvement in the Hold's affairs, directly or indirectly, until you are cleared, will result in further restrictions. Is there anything else?" As if she hadn't come in to look for him. Silence follows, then: "I'll see about the weyrhealer." C'wlin's comment is thoughtful, intent clear that this will be carried out. As to the Hold, "I'm not allowed to leave the weyr, ma'am. I will certainly not be going in the Hold's direction even if I were." Iron clad words, these. As to the situation... he holds strong! And cries at night -- not really, but y'know, he's a boy and restrictions suck. "I have nothing else, Weyrwoman, ma'am." Be good, be good, be good. "Don't be dense." Aishani is faintly disappointed by the literal interpretation of the words, particularly from this particular weyrling. "Involvement, regardless of whether you leave the Weyr or not. No sending your friends or classmates, no snooping via Harper allies, nothing that smells of you near that Hold, or you will never leave these barracks, not so long as I have a say in it." It's not said harshly, just plainly - just to be clear. After that, a nod and a tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "And now, nor do I. Do... enjoy your afternoon." She seems dubious about that one, but turns to head out briskly nonetheless, hands in pockets. "Good luck with the Hall." "Yes, ma'am," C'wlin says, tone polite. Formal. By his tone, he's going no where near that Hold, it's people, or the kitchen sink. No way, no ma'am! Her last statement earns a slightly twisted grimace but it's brief and partially occluded by the small shift of his head. It's not until the Weyrwoman leaves -- quite a bit after, actually -- that he resumes his comfortable sprawl in the couch he's (re)claimed as his own. Back to staring up at the ceiling through the open lens of his two hands together. The candlemarks crawl. |
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