Logs:Gift Horse
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| RL Date: 2 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and K'del argue about politics. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edeline/Mentions |
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| It is too, too lovely a day to be stuck indoors; the siren song of the outdoors is certainly what has drawn K'del's vessel out here to the Patio, where he's set himself up with a pile of reports, an otherwise empty table, and a glass of wine. (Beer, of course, would be better... but there's not much beer to be had, these days.) Unsurprisingly, he's not the only one with this idea: the ledge is packed, K'del's table the only one that isn't fully occupied. For the moment, however, K'del seems oblivious to this, his shoulders hunched over his work in what is apparently deep concentration. "Excuse me," is the strident, feminine entreaty, "excuse me-- ow, that was my elbow," while Farideh tries to squeeze her much shorter, much slighter form between a crowd of stocky dragonriders hovering at the entry to Snowasis. She wedges through with a huff, and a backwards glare for their lack of cooperation, and sweeps the ledge with an annoyed glance, that encompasses all the tables and seating. It must be that she spots the empty chair and not its partner, which is quite plainly occupied, because shortly thereafter, she plops down into it, leaning her head back with a sigh. Life as a candidate is so rough, or so the way she lazily eases down into the seat, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, might imply. Only after she's made herself quite comfortable, and sighed lingeringly, do her eyes flick to the side, and finally, a surprised: "Oh. Hi." K'del is so very focused on his work that all of Farideh's efforts to get comfortable go by completely unnoticed... right until she actually speaks. It's then that he glances up, blinking blankly in her direction before actually putting together her presence, her words, and his manners. "Oh," he says. And, "Uh, hi. Hello. Nice afternoon, isn't it, uh--" Evidently, no name springs to mind. "It is, isn't it? It's much better than the snow, or the rain." Farideh scrunches up her nose and directs an appreciative look at the wide, blue summer sky. "Or are you the type who likes the cold weather and the spring downpours?" She cants her head in his direction, knuckles pressed into the side of her cheek; her expression is purely indulgent, her eyes searching as she awaits his answer. Obviously, this is an important question - how else does one judge a man, than by his weather penchants? The corners of K'del's mouth turn up, both-- it seems-- because of Farideh's words and that nose-scrunching, which he evidently finds at least mildly amusing. "There's a certain charm to winter," he answers, reaching for his wine glass, the stem slinking between his fingers. "But no, summer's usually my favourite season, here. Not too hot; not too anything, really. Just perfect." "I can't find a single thing to like about the winter. It's cold, and wet, and you can slip on ice, fall into the snow, it gets everywhere--" The girl waves her hand, making another unhappy face. "It's nice. Much nicer. It would only be better if there was a beach, but, a guess a lake will do." Farideh has a wistful glance in the direction of the lake, before her focus comes back to K'del. "What are you doing? Ledgers? Poetry? Gushy love letters?" is a bit impertinent, but she's obviously curious about that work he's got spread out before him. "Skating," is K'del's prompt answer. "Seems like you enjoyed the sledding, too." He stretches, now, rolling his shoulders back in an elongated, idle kind of way, his glass held carefully steady as he does so. "And then there's coming indoors afterwards to warm up in front of the hearth with a mug of something hot. But I'll not argue the merits of summer, regardless." Blue eyes flick down towards his papers; he shrugs. "Just work." The reference to their sledding incident wins a smile from the candidate, and an undecided type of shrug. "I liked it enough, but swimming is better. Playing in the ocean, feeling the sand between your toes, or lying out on the beach and enjoying the sun." Farideh pulls her legs in under her seat and peers that much more intently at the Weyrleader, her brows flickering with unsubtle skepticism. "Are you used to giving that answer? Or is it that embarrassing? You know, not everyone is an accomplished love letter writer, but it's nothing to lose face over." Teenage audacity. "Well, it's nothing so top-secret that it shouldn't be read out here in the open," answers K'del, ignoring Farideh's audacity in lieu of being serious... even if his mouth twitches just slightly. And then there's the fact that he actually explains further, this time; go figure. "But it's nothing all that interesting, either. Trying to figure out why Tillek is sending us beasts ahead of the tithe. They've not been... been a long time since we were good friends, that's all." Farideh's got that tell-me-more look in her eyes. "Have you tried talking to them?" is overly, obnoxiously obvious. "Actually talking to them. And-- listening?" Her expression turns thoughtful, her lips momentarily pressing together, and then there's a speculative up-and-down glance of the bronzerider. "Was it those ships? From the storm? Certainly, even Lady Edeline realized a natural disaster can't be the Weyr's fault," with chin propped on fist. "Perhaps they're just trying to be nice by sending them sooner. Is it really all that bad? That they're anticipating our needs? I would consider that an act of reconciliation." K'del, in answer, has a look that says you've got to be kidding me; he's too polite to put that into words, however. "In my experience," K'del answers, "It's pretty rare for any hold to do something nice without there being a ulterior motive. Edeline's shrewd; she doesn't do things just because it's nice, not in my experience. She's-- it's a complicated history. If anything, that storm improved the relationship - we saved some! - but it's not like we're best friends, now." He sets down his glass, nudging it away from the ledge with one fingertip. "It's just odd." The brunette listens, her face not betraying any of her inner thoughts, save an introspection that lingers from before. "Do you have a certain perception of Holds? That they're-- what? They've always got an ulterior motive? I do think Edeline is shrewd, but what reason would she have for sending us fresh meat, and hides, and milk, amongst others?" Farideh makes the mistake of showing a flicker of doubt at her own words, but quickly withdraws from her chin-propping to suck in a breath and let it out in typical dramatic fashion. "I don't think she's trying to poison us. Do you?" "No." K'del's reply is sharp-- and short. "No, that's not it. The Holds put their own interests first, though, same as we do. Don't for a second believe that they're vindictive; they just have different priorities." His gaze is focused sharply on Farideh, too sharply for him to miss that flicker of doubt. "My point is only that we have to be cautious. I'm grateful for her assistance; doesn't mean I'm not wary that there will be strings attached." "And what do we have that they would want?" is the returned question, with mock-solemnity and eyes slanted askance. "Forgive me if I'm not convinced." Farideh is, at least, honest now, as well as foolhardy and blunt. K'del's brows raise, a dubious glance now aimed back at Farideh. "Everyone always wants something," he says, with a note of sharpness audible beneath his words. "The usual answer is power. That's all this is, in the end; politics is power." "Power," Farideh repeats, selecting that word out of the rest. "That's the second time I've heard that same saying in the last month. Power, and politics, and holders." She resigns herself to a disapproving mien, brows drawn sharply together over tumultuous eyes. "And do you want to be known for power struggles? What is giving them a little if it helps us a lot? I don't think anyone is particularly pleased with the current situation. Isn't morale of the people you're supposed to care for important too? More so than-- than-- needlessly speculating about what Lady Tillek is up to." K'del takes up his wine glass, holding it near his mouth without actually aiming to sip. "You have a lot of opinions, don't you," he says, neutrally. "No one's suggesting we do anything but thank Edeline profusely. But it would be remiss of me, in my position, not to consider the situation carefully. That's my job." "Anyone can have opinions." Farideh looks sulky, crossing her arms over her chest, and keeping up the frown that's bending down the corners of her mouth. "Even a laundress. Even a candidate. Even a Weyrleader," with a little sardonic twist on the end. She shoves up from her chair, careful, however, not to bump into the table. "I hope you enjoy your wine. Your job sucks." And on that note, sulky teenager stomps away to do sulky teenager things. "I--" K'del opens his mouth to argue, but Farideh is already stomping away, sulkily. And what can he possibly say to that? He drinks his wine instead. |
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