Logs:Geviaur's Request
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| RL Date: 3 July, 2014 |
| Who: Geviaur, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Geviaur requests to Stand. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 2, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: R'hin/Mentions |
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| Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest. Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention. A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind. The snow is coming down like nothing else, outside, leaving not much by way of visibility. The Council Chambers are cosily warm, though-- and there's a puddle near the entrance where K'del's boots sit, drying, along with his coat. The Weyrleader himself is sitting at the big, oval table, the dampness of his curls suggesting he's not been here long. For now, though, he's intent upon his work, studying a set of reports with intense, focused diligence. No, really. And through the storm with intent of purpose comes Geviaur, straight from the Snowasis after a drink to help his resolve. A few brief queries give him the weyrleader's location, and bring him at last to the Council Chambers. Here he may pause outside, the snow off his coat and ineffectually smoothing his hair, but its with easy, almost lazy confidence that he walks into the room, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe as he does so as a manner of announcing his arrival. "A moment, Weyrleader?" Geviaur may even have seen K'del in the Snowasis, earlier, chatting intently with one of the Assistant Headwomen; he's got fewer smiles, now, though his expression is not unfriendly when he glances up from his work. "Geviaur," he says, with the smugness of one who has found the name out, and is pleased to have done so. "Come in. What do you need?" All the invitation he needs, Geviaur moves across the room and takes the chair directly opposite K'del, dropping his not-inconsiderable size into it in what is, for him, a customary manner - the near lounge, legs stretched out, and his hands clasped across his middle as he surveys the other man. "I would like to stand." No beating around the bush for him. He delivers the line matters of factly, with a slow grin following - as though there's some inherent humor in the very idea of his asking. K'del's chin lifts, his expression thoughtful for the request, though he otherwise betrays little by way of reaction, positive or negative. "Have you Stood before?" he wonders, levelly. He sets down the report he was looking at, now, and the pen held loosely between the fingers of his other hand. "You're old to be willing to give up everything for the possibility." "I was asked once, and declined," Geviaur replies, without further explanation. The rest he agrees to readily, a faint purse of his lips and a nod. "I'm also old to be wearing an apprentice's knot," he says, raising a rough hand to pat his shoulder, though the symbol in question is covered by his coat at the moment. He shrugs, as though the implications of giving up the craft he'd heretofore devoted his life to don't bother him much. "Need to give it a shot. 'Fore I make a commitment the other direction." "Last chance type thing?" This, finally, has K'del's mouth twitch; the hint of a smile. He leans back in his chair, arms crossing in front of him, as he studies the younger man. "Why are you still an Apprentice? Is there something we should know about, there?" "Something like that," Geviaur agrees, his own smile coming readily and without reserve, quirking with easy charm... until the follow up question. It fades. Only slightly, but enough that the change in expression is noticeable, and the slight shift in his chair. "Largely it's been by choice. Fear of commitment, you could say," he says, with self-directed amusement. "Probably is some you should know, though. Don't have the most savory background. Did some, if you'll pardon the language, shitty things. Don't do them now." Mostly. He shifts again, then fixes his eyes on K'del, an intent look before he decides to elaborate further. "My brother is in Savannah. He did shittier stuff. He's a better man for that dragon." For this, after this, K'del is silent, just watching Geviaur-- and that reaction in particular. Again, his chin lifts, the solemnity of his expression increasing, if only for a few seconds. "If your brother is in Savannah, R'hin's found a way to make him useful," he concludes. "And if you say your brother was shittier..." It's not, however, a request for more information. "Fear of commitment. And you're sure that you won't regret this commitment, were you to Impress?" And without a specific request, no further information is offered. Geviaur's not about to tighten his own noose. There's a subtle relaxation as the conversation moves on, if not quite to the point he had been at first - there's more tension his hands now, tightly clasped together. "Mm. I suppose that is the question. Regret. I'm a smith because that is what I was told to be. I'm good. It suits me. But I'm here by choice. I'm getting old, as you said, not much longer 'til /this/ is no longer a viable option. I think I'd regret not giving it a try." He hesitates, his voice gravelly without its normal note of levity. "My brother found himself, and peace, when he impressed." And those hands are spread wide, a shrug given. "Call me an optimist." After a noticeable pause, K'del, finally, begins to nod. "Yes," he says, "Can see that." His arms uncross, now, fingertips drumming at the table in an idle kind of fashion before he ultimately gives another nod. "All right," he says. "You can Stand. See to it you don't disappoint me, though. And... if you do Impress? Consider sticking with your craft. Can't hurt, right?" There's the grin again, as the verdict is announced. Geviaur pulls his his booted feet back and shifts himself forward, reaching a broad hand across the table to the man in charge. "You got it, sir," he says easily, cheek dimpling. "Sounds like a fair deal." K'del, equally a big man, has a big, surprisingly strong hand of his own; he grips Geviaur's firmly, nodding simply. "Then a deal it is. Good luck, Geviaur." Withdrawing his hand once more, he concludes: "Go see the Headwoman, and get yourself set up. Imagine you can figure out the rest of it for yourself." "Seen it often enough," Geviaur says agreeable, levering himself out of the chair. "Guess I can figure it out." He straightens his coat, directs a nod of farewell at the weyrleader, and prepares to head back out into the storm. Almost as an afterthought, he pauses at the door first. An offhanded "Thank you, Weyrleader," is offered, a bit offhandedly - words not often genuinely said. Then he pulls his coat tight, and takes his leave. |
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