Logs:Due Respect for the Dead
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| RL Date: 12 August, 2015 |
| Who: Edric, X'vin |
| Type: Log |
| What: Edric and X'vin go to Lilah's weyr after her disappearance to pay their respects. Just kidding. They go to talk shop and regroup. |
| Where: Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 7, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dee/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions, Erinta/Mentions, Giarnon/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Ka'ge/Mentions, Malcoen/Mentions, Szarit/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Hella backdated. |
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>---< Lilah and Eliyaveith's Weyr(#1080RJ) >---------------------------------<
Eliyaveith's Ledge, Fort Weyr
The first off the steps that lead up to two of Fort's junior queen weyrs,
this ledge is quite round in shape and likely to be cast in shadow for at
least half the day, thanks to the Weyrleaders' complex to the right and
the higher junior queen ledge to the left. Its surface has been worn
smooth and level, and bears few nicks and slices into the rock, making it
comfortable spot for both dragon and human to settle. There's room enough
for a queen and good-sized bronze, but not much more. The mouth to the
weyr proper dominates the space, lending some protection from the
elements.
Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr
The whole of this weyr seems strangely sanitized and impersonal, with
walls painted white and cleaned often if the subtle shine is any
indication. The first room is vaguely triangular in shape, with the
generous dragon's wallow carved into a deep curve towards the right. The
rest of it appears to have been left as a reception room, a white-washed,
stone table centered between the wallow and the far-left wall with its
surface kept clear of any knickknacks and four varnished, wooden chairs of
simple taste each claiming a side. On the left wall runs a long, brass
shelf, upon which sits a small collection of bound books and a large
fantastical watercolor depicting a scene that could never exist anywhere
in Pern. Hooks under the shelf hold flight gear and even a flamethrower,
still leaving space for more.
A wide, doorless entryway at the northmost point of the triangle leads
through to the rider's private quarters - an oval-shaped room a third of
the size of the last. Within, the hearth is small, but finely-decorated
with ceramic, white tiles, with a woven brass safety screen protecting the
room from embers. The double bed lies in the left-hand portion of the
room, made up with crisp, white linens and a down comforter covered with
soft, white fabric embroidered with raised white vines. A white, wool
blanket lies folded neatly at the bottom of the bed. In the middle of the
far wall, another unprotected archway heralds the existence of another
room: a small bathing room, complete with pool, basin and shelves, which
hold a container of soapsand and a stack of towels. "It's had more traffic now than it did when she was here," X'vin is saying as he mounts the last step to the ledge, his hands in his trouser pockets and his eyes roving almost instantaneously to the threshold leading to the weyr itself. There's no pause outside, and inside he hesitates; not discomfort, exactly, just a head tilt and a curious look for what remains in the weyr, his movements slowing to a careful amble through the clinical white room. "Maybe you should move in. Nobody else is going to want it, not so soon. You'd have so much room for your paperwork." But that's the small talk - he's moving through each room mildly to take inventory of the weyr's emptiness, and outside Besmernyth reluctantly drops from the sky to settle on the ledge, a second set of eyes to warn of any visitors. He is a measured three steps behind X'vin, at least until they're crossing that threshold. A satchel hangs on Edric's shoulder, while a thick notebook is tucked under an arm. There is no hesitation on his part once the weyr is reached; he steps in, already assessing the nature of the weyr with indifference. "Too big," is his determination. "Too public." He cuts a glance askance at X'vin, a glance that inevitably follows the other man as he explores the remaining rooms. As for himself, he'll flip that notebook open - and start to write. Or, rather, jot things down the short-hand that he's adopted for this purpose. "I'll speak with Erinta to clean the weyr out. If Lilah had family, I imagine they would want her remaining belongings." Small talk, all of it, while he does his own scrutinizing of the space. Bedroom. Empty. The bathing room too, and X'vin lingers there to look around a little longer before, "Of course it is. You could put doors on." Now he's just being troublesome, though, teasing at length as he returns back through the rooms he's passed to announce, "All empty," in a tone that is slightly more on point, one that denotes business. "Erinta," is murmured neutrally, and the bronzerider makes his way back the brass bookshelf, thumbing over the titles and pulling one off one with a hum. As he flips through the pages, he says, "What would she do without you?" "Doors would just raise more questions." Edric's mouth twists into a wry smirk. "And that's not to speak of the unnecessary cost." He finishes his inventory and moves along, through the sleeping chamber and to the bathing one in an eerie mirroring of the bronzerider's course. His journey is slower, however, as he takes his notes. "Mm," is acknowledgment enough for empty. It's at Erinta's name that he issues a mild sniff. "Who knows," isn't quite a question, just a rhetorical observation, blandly issued. "I'm sure she would have muddled her way through the inventories. But. She'd be months away from a feasible budget. She's capable enough," isn't exactly praise. "But this is not what she is accustomed to. The real question," he muses and angles a look over his shoulder at X'vin, a look that skirts the upper rim of his glasses, "is what she'll do when I'm gone." "The question," X'vin corrects, taking the book with him as he settles on the stone table, putting a booted foot on one of the wooden chairs and draping his arm over his knee, "is whether she'll be in any position to do anything." X'vin flips the book open in his palm, letting it open to whatever page it will and evaluating the pages absently. "You can't blame her, being less efficient than you," the bronzerider says eventually, thoughtful. "Every variable is different now. Cousin or not, I don't think she will be as much help as you. I need...something fool-proof. Something more powerful than a competent headwoman. With Lilah gone." And that he doesn't add too. He shouldn't have to. "Is she a sympathetic sort, Erinta? Taking to your staff well? Your changes?" "That's never been a question," Edric replies dryly. Notations made and inventory completed, the notebook is closed and returned to its previous home under his arm. "She won't be." Implications remain, but he moves along readily enough. It's his turn to consider the books, but none of them garner even the mildest modicum of interest. He purses his lips, shakes his head in mild disapproval, and responds, "She has been... resistant to some suggested changes." Diplomatic, that. "Taking a complete inventory was one thing. Cleaning out the entire staff-" he motions with a hand. "It'll be a pity if one of them makes a mistake." His tone is cool. Calculated. Contemplative, to a degree. "Five months," more or less, "should be enough time." "Pity, that. She's settling in so well. I should have welcomed her sooner, before Lilah poached her. Being one favor short from Giarnon for her foolishness, that I still need to fix -- " There's a certain amount of repressed energy to the bronzerider, and he puts the book down, spine up, beside him before finding his feet again and pacing to the wall still decorated in riding gear. "Even dead, people are still trying to..." X'vin waves a hand to dismiss the rest of the sentence, shaking his head. "No matter. You'll get it back in order. I hear it's all back, every missing thing. With some extra to spare even. Funny, how things multiply. I'll figure something in the meantime. Dealing with E'dre directly is like having teeth removed from your skull." He lifts a hand, testing one of those spare straps and the hook it hangs from with a tug. "Did you meet the caverns boy she sent away? Szarit, I think?" "Mm." A roll of shoulders, a ceilingward glance, as if he might have missed something. Edric eventually levels his gaze on the bronzerider with a mild, "She may still be of use." The matter of where will just have to be dealt with later. There's little more than a shallow nod for the words brushed away with a hand; he'll let that settle for now. Instead: "Of course. Someone was creative with their inventories at the time. I'm not entirely sure who the responsible party is," and he obviously can't cleanse the entire staff, so his hands are tied. His agitation is brief, but palpable, before he forces it back into cool collectedness. "I've not had the pleasure," of working with E'dre, which, conveniently, could double for his answer to the last. "He was... dismissed before I was hired. I've been meaning to speak with him, but I've been entirely too busy cleaning up the mess." "Just another overambitious, overinflated brownrider with a complex," X'vin says, "certainly easier to deal with than Ruathan blood, and that's just simple history." He turns from the wall, briefly following Edric's gaze upward before he holds up the wall beside those hooks, "I doubt he's your culprit in that. He took from us - you'd have to remove him anyways, if they hadn't sent him off so quickly. All to protect their new weyrwoman, such as it is. And her friends, I think, but Dee was rather upset. It wasn't very clear." To which there's a nod, slow and considering. Mental notes made. Edric approaches the bed and straightens the covers, only to take a seat at the edge of it. The satchel is unslung and brought to rest beneath his feet, allowing him to stow the notebook away. "They had to punish someone," he agrees with a slight furrow to his brow. "It's to his benefit that they took care of it before I was hired on." He leans forward, elbows on knees and expression grown increasingly more dark. "My understanding was that Dee was behind it," is further confirmation. "If I were a betting man, I'd put good marks on some of her fellow weyrlings having been involved. Perhaps the right pressure on them will yield more fruit." One corner of his mouth distorts at that last. "Upset at having been caught? Or upset that only one of her conspirators was punished?" There are other options - but not enough information for him to venture into. Not yet. "Lilah would have lost control of the caverns if she hadn't, yes," X'vin acknowledges, with the ever-hanging 'but' unspoken, where it will stay. Instead he nods, acknowledging Dee's involvement. "Upset at having not been punished herself. At having that boy's fate in her hands and ruining someone with it." His eyes remain on Edric steadily, watching him put his things away, even as he himself begins another look of the room, stopping in front of the watercolor with an unreadable expression. He doesn't speak, or blink, for quite some time, and when he breaks it is not even for relevancy. "This doesn't seem like something she'd like. All that fantasy." For the weyrlings, "It's crossed my mind. Have you looked into them? Lilah's sister seems suspect, and perhaps I'dro as well. He's Bollian, know; his father has a farmhold. Besmernyth is certain there is something wrong with Ka'ge and Zymadiath, too. I should soothe him." "Such a burden, that," Edric replies blandly. "To commit a crime and go unpunished directly." Deadpan. He leans slightly forward, elbows on knees, and laces his fingers loosely together. While his gaze drifts to the painting in question, his opinion - or lack thereof - is left unspoken. Instead: "The only encounter with a weyrling I've had thus far has not been heartening. Isabeau, I believe her name was. Green Banth's, if L'land was not mistaken." There's an audible sniff of distaste - no words necessary. The other names are, surely, committed to memory - and it's the last that elicits an articulated response: "Yes, that one would be good to look into. I doubt he'll give up much if he is involved, but he's more likely to talk to you than to me." His mouth presses into a flat, bloodless line; thoughtful. "I don't know how people can bear themselves." There's a heavy moment where it seems like X'vin might keep his composure entirely, but then he laughs, that bright and odd sound that only he manages between them, weighted oddly in the wake of everything, this empty weyr of a likely dead woman. "I'm not familiar with that one. Must be nobody." He's done his research; the new riders have been tallied by his estimation, including Ka'ge, though the gaze he cuts sidelong is sharper, the same way his smiled hones at the corners. There's a question there, a suspicion, a brief amount of measured distrust, and in the wake of it all his own response is shorter. "I'll find the time. He's involved, I'm sure; I think Dee's wrapped him around her fingers." The rider's laughter elicits a faint uptick at the corners of Edric's mouth; no laughter is shared but the smile, fleeting as it is, is a rare betrayal of his amusement. Of Isabeau: "The less familiar you are, the better. I feared that I was going to lose some vital part of my intellect while talking to her." Disdain drips from his words and he shakes his head, as if that might clear it away. "She might be useful." But not for this, is left unspoken but plain enough. Tools don't need to be intelligent, after all. He remains as he is, seated forward, fingers laced, shoulders rolled just a little. His attention slides from painting to X'vin and back again. "Mm." Sniff. "Or it might be the other way around," he considers. "Regardless. He'll be the one to keep an eye on - especially when her gold goes up. If she's the first to rise of the two, he'll prove to be your - and Besmernyth's - greatest contender." A shudder moves through X'vin's shoulders like the room's suddenly gotten terribly cold. His expression contorts like it has too, eyes, moving up and over towards the ledge, where Besmernyth still waits. "We know. Besmernyth isn't worried." Which, by extension, means they shouldn't be, if the way he waves it away is any indication. "You think? Dee said people listen to her. That they have her whole life. She blames these uncanny powers of persuasion for the stores debacle, but I suppose he could be the one pulling strings. By for what purpose? She's a bleeding heart. It's going to get her or someone else killed, one day, I think. It always does. But him?" His tongue clicks the back of his teeth, considering. "I'll find a way to handle him, when it comes closer." He puffs a sigh, turning around and slipping his hands in his pockets to level an even look at Edric. "She was too fastidious," the bronzerider gestures around the weyr. "I'll have to go to Giarnon myself. And you to my father. There's nothing here." Nothing except the items on Edric's tally, at least. "I might take that picture though. For the sweeter memories." "Good." The laced fingers rise, now steepled, to touch just at Edric's upper lip. He looks over his spectacles at X'vin, his features obscured by both the angle and his hands. "But. Even if he wins - we win." He holds for a second, then rises from the edge of the bed. He bends to collect his bag and shoulder it, with a final look around the weyr. "I don't know her," he notes of Dee. "But. I find that those who claim such powers of persuasion just tend to be the squeakiest wheel - and everyone wants to silence it." He gestures vaguely, waving everything away. On his feet, he's better able to meet that leveled gaze. "Of course," is just confirmation, coupled with a nod. But, then, there's the painting and he raises one eyebrow slightly. Judgmental, that, but he'll not say a word beyond, "Make sure you let me know so I can adjust the ledger as appropriate." There's a faint sound from him, a lifting of his chin and, "I'll see what I can get out of the other weyrlings - and stores staff, of course." The prospect of losing has certainly crossed his mind, it must have, but it doesn't make him less displeased to think about. "We won't," X'vin mutters darkly, turning to give the room one more look around, like anything they've missed might jump out at him in that last glance. "It would be just enough to make people chafe," he says of the painting. His smile is wry. "I think it would fit under my bed perfectly. And wouldn't people wonder?" But in the end he doesn't take it, nor does he confirm that Edric should mark it down; he just makes his way towards the door, intoning, "We've been her long enough to pay our respects, I'd say. Hopefully you have better luck than I have. All that fucking work, gone wherever she went." He wrinkles his nose, looks annoyed enough that he might spit on that perfectly clean room -- but he doesn't. Just, "At least Giarnon's family," as he starts down the steps. "Mm." Just a nod for that and the Steward-turned-consultant inclines his head in the direction of the ledge. He's already given a final once-over to the space - and, no doubt, he'll return again to ensure that things are dealt with as appropriate - assuming, naturally, that Erinta would permit it. It's unlikely - but the man can hope. "Better to burn it," he replies with one of those wry half-smiles of his. "Or drop it *between*." Fitting, that. He'll follow after X'vin, though that mention of luck elicits a dry chuckle. "I have enough luck stockpiled from turns of not using it. Let's hope I don't need it in dealing with them or this. The answers are out there - if there are answers." His steps are nearly silent as he follows after and he lapses into silence after that adjustment is made. "I'll leave that in your hands. Is there anything you wanted me to send back to your father?" Besmernyth stirs on the ledge, not to take them anywhere, but because their exit acknowledges the completion of his duties as a lookout. The skeletal bronze gives them both a perfunctory look before he launches skyward with a single poweful beat of his wings, off on his own business. X'vin's laugh for Edric's alternate suggestions is at least genuine, enough to break the mood that seems to have fallen over him. "You can spare a little luck. When was the last time a weyrwoman just disappeared, Edric?" The question is clearly rhetorical; he moves past it easily, "A little luck to keep the one we have from losing her mind, or to keep Elaruth on the ground. Just a pinch." Of his father, there is a silence while he weighs his options, then a resigned sigh. "Not yet. Just keep him appeased. I can handle the rest." The departure of the bronze is noted with a sidelong look that tracks the beast for the span of three wingbeats. Edric's spectacled gaze settles back on X'vin after that, lips pursed. Rhetorical questions are left just so, though there's a faint snort from the consultant. He tips his attention skyward, eyes slightly narrowed. "I'll see what I can spare to spend," he finally says. "Of course, my spending power is limited here." Unfortunately. goes unspoken, but there it is. The silence, then, is a mutual one for some time - until X'vin breaks it. This time, there is a comfortable smirk on the Black Cliff Steward's face as he responds: "Oh, you know me, X'vin. I live to serve." X'vin sighs. "For a little longer, yet," he agrees of spending power, with a roll of the eyes. "There is something to be said for efficiency." He studies the other man before he reaches out, clasping his shoulder in farewell, brief but affectionate. "I'll let you know soon. Give Erinta my best. She seems to be avoiding me." With that, he steps past Edric, whistling a little tune that is odd, given the room they just left, but masks must always be put in place. "Absolutely. I'll try to find out what's on her mind." It's a promise, even if that word isn't used. Edric nods once, stiffly, as confirmation. The clasp is returned, if briefly, and Edric breaks away just as X'vin does. While the bronzerider moves on, he takes a divergent path - one that will inexorably take him back to work, no masks required. |
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