Logs:Down With The Ship
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| RL Date: 29 May, 2013 |
| Who: Aishani, N'hax |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aishani and N'hax discuss weyrs, craft relations and suspicions around the pirate attack. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 12, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today. |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
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| No snowfall, not today - but there's the look of snow up in those clouds around the spires, and it's not as if there's a little on the ground already. Certainly not the worst of the winter, but it's beginning to settle in. It's likely reason the workers left in the records room linger for all that dusk and thus, dinner is near; there's the scribe on duty and a few scattered others... and Aishani coming from the stacks with traces of dust on otherwise spotless clothing. There's no real indication of where it might have come from - the table the tall goldrider strides back to is only graced with a few folders of paperwork. They're ignored for the moment in favor of grimacing down at her condition, trying to correct it. Observed, "You... seem to have a little something," beat, "There." N'hax gestures, in a humorously respectful manner, to encompass the entirety of Aishani's being. The Smith-turned-weyrling is recently of the records room, a breath of cold air showing in the pink-tint along his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. He has with him a rucksack of books, which he unloads at the table the next over with the steady rhythm of a man getting ready to settle down to some little work. His eyebrow lifts much-belated, and with a half-smile, he offers, "Ma'am," to close the statement. With a little huff, wry, "Everywhere." At least Aishani hasn't been climbing around in one of her little skirts, for all it doesn't do slim dark pants or white shirt any favors - her jacket has some near-ridiculous fur collar, abandoned in a nearby chair for now. While she's brushing off her lower leg, she flips dark waves back to determine the speaker with a quick glance up. Her smile for N'hax is likewise brief before her attention goes back to dust-streaks with a furrow of fine brows. "Much appreciated, though. Don't mind me." If anyone else is watching, she seems to be ignoring them. "Could be worse," N'hax allows, settling himself down and starting to arrange himself out, stacking books in a pattern that only his brain can see ... for now. They all seem to be texts on stoneworking. He pulls out his sketchbook, a familiar enough addition to his form, and flips open. Luckily, he's not sketching Aishani bent over brushing off dust streaks... or maybe that's unluckily for all of the Shani fanboys populating the weyr. "It could be that powdered sweetner the bakers use," he finishes his statement. "That never comes out." Yeah, lots of fans for the (acting) Weyrwoman. When people aren't busy suspecting her of something nefarious. It doesn't take long at the very least, though Aishani doesn't look pleased with her slacks, nor does she as she picks at her shirt, nose wrinkling faintly. Despite the fact that the only person likely to notice her completely disheveled state is N'hax, she still takes up her jacket to shrug it on. As she does, her quick sharp gaze moves over the books with interest. "I don't spill things," she notes absently, rapping the knuckles of one hand on the table before her. "Remodeling?" To her credit, she genuinely seems interested. "Well, not all of us can be explicitly perfect," N'hax states, relaxed and amused - obviously in a better-than-normal mood, with that kind of teasing going on from the typically reserved man. He thumps open one especially overblown tome filled with arch design, flipping through. "I picked a weyr that..." He pauses to consider, "Well, wasn't really... finished. So I'm finishing it how I want to." Because he's not scared of a little sweat. Or working half-clothed. In (totally unrelated) other news, the ledge directly across from him has suddenly picked up a tremendous amount of traffic by a great many greenriders. Mysterious things, man. "So I suppose that's modeling, instead of remodeling, isn't it?" A flash of a smile upwards. "The reward is not in the being, but in the effort. Or something like that? I just like my clothes." Obviously. Once her collar and hair and so on are settled as she'd like, Aishani can flash something of a grin. Now that she's not all clearly dirty and all. Moving to lean on the weyrling's table now, she looks over the books with a vague sort of interest - curiosity with no real background for understanding. "Was that the appeal of the place? Finishing it as you like? Or a project, or... was it all that was left once you got around to it? And I suppose it is. Do you think it'll take long?" "I would never be able to tell," so states N'hax, innocently, about how Aishani likes her clothes. At the wash of questions, though, he leans back, laughing. "I'm sure it will take me a while. Maybe less than I think," with thought, "But..." He flickers through a few more pages, pointing eventually at a graceful peaking curve. "I'm a Smith." No was; interesting tense choice. "I like building things." Just call him Bob Vila. "It has an amazing view, and plenty of space... in theory." With a little shrug as she straightens, "There's not much sense in spending the money if I don't take care of them. Or, more accurately, it's a waste." Shani's dark gaze goes from the page N'hax has pointed out back to the weyrling-slash-Smith (apparently), fine brows arched a touch. "In theory," she echoes. "Best of luck with it. I don't know that I'd have the patience myself." Careful, "If I might ask, have you yet discussed your status with your Craft? Because, while I see little wrong with pursuing any studies in one's free time, I would hate to see any... issues for one of our riders." "I can't argue that." N'hax's tone indicates he does indeed see Aishani's point of clothing. He leans out a bit, resting his elbow on the next chair over the better to lean back and examine Shani's face thoughtfully. "I've had a few... guarded dialogues with the master who coordinates this region. To be perfectly frank, I believe I've been given a protected status due to politics. Blood politics." His lips curve slightly, his expression rueful, but he doesn't seem too pissed off over being evaluated as his father's son rather than himself. Pragmaticism lives. "I'm sure that it will shift again when we graduate." He allows his voice to lull off, and then broaches a different slant, "At least, given the wingleader we end up working with is amenable to the prospect of me continuing my work." Jhorinth, somewhere, is snorting. The goldrider seems primarily curious, dark gaze pensive as she listens. Head tilting as she regards the weyrling, "But no... sense of the way the wind is blowing, as it were. Hm." Aishani considers N'hax for a beat before telling him, in a confidential tone, "I've been discussing Crafter representation here at the Weyr - official representation - for some time, and I'd like to try to arrange it. I'm hoping it might make some Crafts more... disposed to allowing their former students to continue, but that's hardly certain." There's a faint smirk for the likelihood of anything much helping, but. Still. "It depends on the wing, really. Some might be interested in your connections, I'd imagine - but your interests, and Jhorinth's should come first, if you have some sort of choice in the matter." N'hax shakes his head. "No commitment," he concurs with her statement. He doesn't move from his idle lean, still appraising the goldrider when she mentions formal Craft representation. "It would be interesting to see how that resolves," comes his perfectly noncommitant answer himself, sliding back into familiar patterns of speech and thought in a moment's passing. For wings, a hand lifts, fingernails scrubbing against the start of a scruff he has going on along his jawline. "If Jhorinth had his way, we would be watchriders somewhere." The statement is full of rue and wry, wry resignation. Leaning back on her table now, "There never really is, it seems like. Until it's too late to do much about it." Aishani's lips twist briefly for that, folding her arms and slouching into her collar. The non-answer on her little project draws an amused smirk from the weyrwoman though, and she asks N'hax, not expecting an answer, dark eyes bright, "Would it? It will be." As for Jhorinth and his way, with an arch of her brows again, "Did the excitement of the Festival convince him that's where the action is, watchriding? You'll have to convince him otherwise." Because... not so much. "My grandfather would say to that that it is never too late to do something about anything that plagues you." N'hax's expression holds a glimmering of internal amusement. "Inasmuch as he never allows anything to plague him to begin with." Sark's waved away negligently. He snorts, a light chuffing noise of amusement, and passes her bright humor to the end. "No, he enjoyed sitting watch before that. He's very... watchful," and N'hax is SO eloquent, "--watchful, Jhorinth. Though admittedly I think something happening helped." He shifts his eyes to the ceiling, idly staring at a dust-bunny up there. "Did anything ever come of that?" is his question, gaze coming back down to focus on Aishani curiously. "I suppose I'd have to agree with that. There's nothing wrong with taking one's time." And if she's far too entertained by that, well. Aishani might be forgiven, as there's probably hundreds of times before where she's said things like that and had to remain totally straight-faced. Not at all sober while she echoes, "Watchful," either. "Well, that's as easily done here if you're not terribly interested in being posted somewhere... dull. And far from your weyr-in-progress." Her gaze follows N'hax's briefly, then shifts back down to meet his; her lips purse. "It depends on what you consider 'something'. I was not involved in the questioning, but we will be speaking about the results." She's not pleased about that at all. "Did you notice anything unusual in the whole thing? Beyond... the fact that the attack itself is unusual." N'hax shifts a wry expression towards the goldrider for taking-one's-time and amusement. There's something behind the wry: a flicker of acknowledgement, perhaps, for a personality that is in some ways very similar to his own. He is in a good mood. Unfortunately that good mood will have to be locked down, for while he doesn't pull himself to rights physically, his eyes sharpen at the topic's vector. "We?" he echoes, tilting an eyebrow upwards. He hesitates, as if considering exactly how far to express himself. "There are several things that don't make sense to me, though I'll admit to being far and away not a... tactical expert." He shakes his head. "The timing could be coincidence, I suppose." Aishani seems to feel no need to rush N'hax to answer, content in her easy lean on the table, happy to pretend her hidework isn't there, no doubt. Despite her brief smile for the bronzerider, she's quick enough to get to business, telling him, "It doesn't matter whether you're an expert or not. You were there, and you pay attention, so far as I can tell." With a little laugh, humorless, "It could be. I'm inclined to think it's not, but I'm inclined to think there's something behind everything. What was the timing meant to get at, is the question. It wasn't any of you, thankfully. Iesaryth and I were concerned initially." "I remember," N'hax states, his voice a murmur. How could he not? He was one of the voices strident against her caution. Adrenaline and testosterone mix in predictable ways. His baritone deepens after he clears his throat. "There was confusion about the message," he starts, then. "The timing seemed convenient. The rescue seemed too uncontested. The entire thing seemed too easy." His eyes lift, rise to meet hers without judgment, his opinion continuing to unravel, bullet-point by bullet-point. "Glacier's response seemed too swift. The absence of Snowdrift seemed a deliberate error. To be perfectly honest, the entire thing felt staged." There's time to weigh all that before Aishani can say much about it; the predictable weyrling response, perhaps predictable draconic response to danger isn't really remarked on, though she does note, "The means by which this message came to the drums seems to be a mystery." She considers N'hax, nodding once before, "There are a few things that are... interesting about the event as it was. Glacier was preparing before they were aware there was an attack, in case backup was needed. But the rest..." She can't argue. "Why is the question. Why stage an attack to have weyrlings respond. The rest comes out of that, I think." "Atrocious grammar," is all that N'hax has to add about the message itself, his voice a low mutter. "Convenient time to be preparing to aid as backup," is his only quiet comment about Glacier, easily overlooked except for the reservation in grey eyes. "I'm not sure if I would focus on the weyrling part. Again, this -- isn't my forte. If someone smashed into a building, I could probably tell you what angle they did it, how fast they were going." Physics. Easy. "But this... mental shit." He shakes his head. Not his field. "Do you think," hypothetically he poses, "That the weyrling component was significant? If it was staged on the thought that we weren't there -- how would the situation been reacted to? Azaylia, I'm sure. A handful of riders attending? At most?" With a slight smile, "We'd told the Weyr - the lot of us - as soon as there was news." Even so, it doesn't seem it's entirely dismissed as Aishani adds, "That's not to say that it wasn't quick even given that. And..." She trails off, reluctant, but; "It's possible that part, all of you being there, was a coincidence. I don't know that either Azaylia or myself would be expected to attend that day specifically, but Hraedhyth would be a safe bet to... just go regardless of where they were. But maybe just a few riders, the watchrider. Maybe something was meant to go down on that ship." An arch of brows toward the bronzerider, though she's not looking too convinced at that. "Or someone." There is only silence after the last statement. It stretches, takes on a flavor of thoughtfulness, of low tension, of resolve; it thins until it breaks. "It is an interesting conundrum," N'hax states, sprawling his legs before him and leaning considerable frame forwards to start thumbing through his archway book once more. "I don't envy you the dissection of it. Of course, if I may be of any service to the weyr." His Telgar-touched tones are perfect, precise, courteous. After the long silence breaks, Aishani has to laugh, shaking her head ruefully. Looking down at her boots, "I do that. Bring down a room. My apologies." She does sound apologetic, and maybe not a little embarrassed. Pushing off the table to round it and start clearing her folders, "I'll leave you to your planning. But I appreciate the thoughts. And your time. And if you remember anything..." Straightening to her full height, she crosses her arms over the folders she holds, offering the trace of a smile. "No apologies are necessary, weyrwoman." N'hax's smile has broadened and deepened in a way entirely removed from the statues of rank and position and intrigue; the smile of a man who has caught a well-composed woman off her game, even if briefly. "It is my most beloved honor to serve the weyr." That smile includes a glint, a glimmer of something more - sardony, it must be, sarcasm well-wrapped in velvet vocals. The man who never expected to say those words shakes his head, composes his features in a way more respectful, more appropriate to circumstance and situation. "I will endeavor to inform you should I recollect any further discreprencies from that day, ma'am." Beat. "And you have something right," he gestures at one of his own shoulders, making a sweeping motion along the top of it. "There." With a barely perceptible eye roll, dryly, "Oh, believe me. It's mine as well." How could Aishani not love serving the Weyr that murdered her father? It's the greatest place in the world! Arching one fine brow toward N'hax, she regards him evenly for a moment, then turns to glance where he's indicated and flick whatever imagined bit of fluff there might be away. Turning up that big collar, "Appreciate the service." And then, she'll leave him to planning out his weyr, because she probably has things to do, and traders don't learn about architecture. Amused eyes follow Aishani's exit, because while traders don't study architecture, Smiths can appreciate all architecture. Once she's gone, there's an amused sigh, and grey eyes focus down on more mundane curves. |
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