Logs:It's Bad, Isn't It?
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| RL Date: 25 November, 2009 |
| Who: Ebeny, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del and Ebeny discuss recent events. None of the news is good. |
| Where: Nighthearth, HIgh Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 4, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'ndro/Mentions, W'chek/Mentions, Z'yi/Mentions |
| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. Rain, rain, rain: one might be forgiven for thinking that it simply hasn't stopped in the days since those bones were discovered in the field, though there have, in fact, been a number of breaks in the clouds. Mid afternoon finds a relatively sodden K'del ducking into the nighthearth in search of what is presumably a late lunch. Having filled a bowl with stew, he lingers near the hearth, staring broodinging into the flames without any particular notice given to anything else. Hiding in corners is a skill learned through many turns of study. Ebeny is merely quiet, curled up in a comfortable chair with boots abandoned on the floor to one side, not, perhaps, hiding, though it might seem that way from how she doesn't speak or even move in the slightest when she suddenly has company. The greenrider doesn't really watch K'del either, eyes unfocused and they remain that way when she murmurs, "I'd stay there if I were you. You need to dry out," absently. Despite his obvious contemplation, K'del's answer comes without any apparent thought; "Rather than drench some nice padded chairs that never did anything to anyone?" The glibness of this fades off into nothing as the bronzerider turns to consider Ebeny, recognition only seeming to sink in now: he really wasn't paying attention earlier. "Afternoon, Ebeny." He transfers his bowl to the other hand, so that he can use the first hand to run through his hair, sending droplets flying. "Rather than sit in a drenched chair, trying to get warm, when instead you're just sitting in the wet getting colder," Ebeny replies, tuning back into the room proper at the same time with a few rapid blinks. When she's finally focused, it's then that she manages, "Good afternoon, K'del." She still doesn't move, fingers of both hands laced around a mug of something probably long gone cold, and her smile isn't much of one, but she tries. "Just humour me and sit somewhere where you're going to get some kind of warm and dry, huh?" she says quietly. That reply gets a low, rueful chuckle from K'del, who shifts his position just slightly so as to avoid overheating the section of his body currently facing the hearth. "Duly noted," he tells her, with mock solemnity. "Or-- should I say, 'yes, mother'?" But that's definitely a joke, made with an actual smile of sorts, though there's something haunting his thoughts that stops him from from really selling it. He does, at least, stay where he is: warming up, drying off. "Yes, sir," Ebeny returns as deadpan as she can possibly manage, what remains of her smile stretching to a flash of a grin, though then she has to look down and directs brief laughter towards one corner of her chair. Eyes closed for a moment, she opens them when she looks up and over at the Weyrleader once again, hesitant, yet words spill from her anyway. "It's bad, isn't it? What was found. I mean, what it /means/ is bad... Whatever it means in the end. For whoever. Us? Them? Someone." There are no more grins from K'del, under the weight of those words that spill free from Ebeny. It's his turn to shut his eyes, to lean back heavily against the wall next to the hearth, and then, finally, to nod. "Pretty bad," he agrees, keeping his voice low, though, for the moment, there aren't many people around to overhear. His eyes are open again. "Browden's put in a protest: claims they could well be his ancestors, and he doesn't want their gravesite desecrated. But... what's worse is that he /knew/. Got his protest there before we reported the find to Crom. That's what... really worries me." "He could've put them there in the first place. Moved them from somewhere," Ebeny says softly, very obviously uncomfortable with speaking about the remains themselves, tension in her shoulders and her gaze on the fire. "...And, if he did, that's just... horrible. Terrible." Maybe an over-active imagination at play there, for she shivers and curls up more tightly, dismissing the idea with the wave of one hand. "If he knew... Well, who was there when they were discovered? And who was on watch here?" K'del's nod is almost too shallow to be classed as such, just the faintest forwards movement of his head. "Yes," he says, soft, and achingly heavy. "He could've. Whole thing could've been..." It's clearly something that has occurred to him, too, and from his expression? He doesn't like it one bit. "That's the problem," he adds, continuing on in a tone that is slightly more thoughtful. "No one who was /there/ when they were discovered left in the time it'd have to have happened in. And... Cadejoth blabbed it all to everyone. So it could've been passed on some other way. By firelizard, maybe, or by someone who was outside the weyr at the time. Too many possibilities." Ebeny goes a little distant, maybe considering all those possibilities, but whilst she's blanked out like that, she utters, "I don't say this about a lot of people, but I Don't. Like. Browden," in a very low voice that doesn't sound at all like her. Blinking back to focus, she breathes out a sigh and continues in a barely lighter tone, "If you can find out who left the Weyr during the right timeframe, you can maybe eliminate some options. Some people, at least. Maybe. But that's assuming someone /went/ to tell and that whoever was on watch could remember who left and arrived during that time." It seems to surprise K'del, at least a little bit, that very unlike Ebeny comment, but his nod in response to it is a much sharper one: utterly determined. "Me, either," is his eventual comment in response; he makes a face. "You're right," he adds, then, taking half a step away from the wall, his forgotten stew set down in the process, now utterly abandoned. "Least it narrows it down a little-- potentially. So's we can /try/ and keep an eye out. People who left, people with firelizards. Doesn't help if people were /already/ gone, though." He lets out a long, low breath. "Guess you might've been right. Way back when, remember? Sabotage from within." Of all the things that could grab her attention, it's the abandoned stew that Ebeny peers at, and though she looks K'del over, she says nothing about not eating. "Potentially," she echoes instead and shakes her head a little; only then seems to notice the mug still in her grip and starts to pry her fingers away from it one by one. "I don't want to be right," is murmured rather mournfully. "I hope I'm not right. If there's somebody doing this because they object to dealings with Crom, then don't they see they're being just as bad as them? And if they're doing it because they think this is all /beneath/ them, then... I don't know." She's run out of words for the time being and sits there with an expression caught between disgust and helplessness. K'del seems to have forgotten the stew altogether, and, for that matter, doesn't even seem to notice the attention Ebeny gives it and him. "Don't want you to be right, either," he agrees, letting himself display an unhappy smile as he draws his hands together in front of him, fingers twining and twisting awkwardly. "And-- right. Doesn't make sense either way. It's not-- logical." He lets out a long breath, shuts his eyes, then flicks them back open. "Keep your eyes open, will you? In case you see anything. Anyone." Beat. "Really hope you're wrong. I'm wrong. That there's some kind of explanation. That Browden loses his case. That--" He breaks off, shrugs. Anything. Something. "I will," Ebeny quietly agrees, just as she leans to set her mug down on the floor beside her boots. Possibly not the best plan in the world, but that doesn't stop her. "Just need to keep it quiet, this sort of thinking, I guess. Hope that if it /is/ someone sabotaging the whole thing, they get too comfortable and make a mistake. And that, well, nobody gets too angry at Browden and does something stupid there." She grimaces and curls back up again, arms caught around her knees. "Just... have to wait. Waiting isn't fun. But not much else we can do until... things unravel. Or don't." "Thanks," says K'del, visibly appreciative even though he's still lacking an actual smile to really emphasise it. He's silent, watching Ebeny, for quite some time before he actually nods again. "Too late for the stupid, it seems. Some of your clutchmates..." The wall builders. He shakes his head. "But more stupid. Right. No more. And then, yes, the waiting." He stretches out his shoulders, arching his back as he lets a low breath escape once more. "Nothing we can do. Just got to present our case and hope that Lord Aughan's not actually in on all this... though that seems less and less likely, given what we know of him. Least we've got a Harper signed agreement. He can't screw us too bad." "I'd like to say that I don't think my clutchmates mean to do stupid things... But maybe that's all I can say; that I'd like to say it," Ebeny says wryly, perhaps trying to make a joke, since there doesn't appear to be anything actually offensive behind her words. "You know, we could tie ourselves up in knots with all this, wondering who, where, why. Start jumping at shadows. As sad as it is, we can't really trust anyone. Hopefully the agreement really does mean something in our favour." K'del lets himself smile, though it's really little more than a twist of the lips, ruefulness not really allowing it more wattage than a dying bulb. "They just don't seem to think," is all he says of her clutchmates, his head shaking; biting at his lip he finally lets himself nod, just once, slow and thoughtful. "Can't trust anyone. Shells-- I hate that. You're right, though. Doesn't help anything. Watchfulness, that's important. Paranoia... not so much." Beat. "Tiriana's going to kill me. Kill me dead. Remember me fondly, I hope?" That, again, is an attempt at levity, probably, his hands untwisting themselves, dropping back towards his sides. At least he's beginning to dry out. "I'll write a song or something," the greenrider promises, an easier smile brightening her features for the briefest of times. "Say that you fought bravely to the end, etcetera, etcetera." Her smile fades and Ebeny continues, more seriously, "Though now I've said that, I guess that's really what you have to do, any murderous instincts on the Weyrwoman's side apart." "Brave K'del," laughs the Weyrleader, "Who really did do his very, very best, despite all the odds being against him and people plotting against him simply because..." He trails off. Because. Simply because, then. It's still not a very strong laugh, and as Ebeny's more serious comments sink in, he dips his head in for another nod. "What, fight bravely to the end? Yes. Not going to let anyone get away with any more than I absolutely have to." Looking troubled again, he swallows, and then adds, "Better go. The wolves-- Wingleaders, I mean-- are waiting. Latest news from the front, all that." Beat. "Thanks, Ebeny. Let me know if you hear anything?" "Good," Ebeny states, nodding sharply. "Go..." She pauses, frowns and considers, "What do you do to get wolves to back off? Hit them on the nose or something?" That makes her smirk more than smile and she really does try to look every bit as encouraging as she can when she says, "Go do that." Blink. "But no outright punching." She softens a little and uncurls just a fraction. "Good luck," she adds more quietly, sincerely. "And I'll let you know. Promise." /That/ makes K'del actually laugh. "Hit them in the nose! Throw fire at them, maybe? I'll do that. Poor Wingleaders won't see it coming!" His smile is a little crooked for her no punching comment, though his nod is, without question, sincere: no outright punching. Promise. "Thanks," he murmurs, with one final bob of his head, before he turns to make his way back out into the caverns. So much for lunch, but at least he's a little more presentable - if 'dry' equals presentable, anyway. |
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