Logs:Missing Goods
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 30 January, 2012 |
| Who: Avaryk, Ali, D'ian, Esten, Eilene, Felire, Hattie, Magdesse, N'muir, T'mitl |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Southern Boll's tithe train arrives, although it's missing quite a bit of the expected goods. |
| Where: Southern Boll, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 11, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jivrain/Mentions |
| It's late afternoon when the watchdragon's trumpet lets everyone -- riders, and others alike -- know that the tithe train is rumbling up from the road to Fort Hold, and will arrive shortly. Shevena, the headwoman, begins ordering everyone in sight towards the bowl, shooing - in particular - at the candidates. The arrival of a tithe train is a cause for celebration, too, and the kitchen staff are busy preparing a meal for those involved in the unloading once they're done. Isyath, despite starting to put on a bit of bulk around the middle, is as usual, circling the skies high above Fort. Ali shades her eyes to look up, then clutching her shawl around her, makes her way across the bowl to join the weyrfolk gathering on the far side near the tunnel entrance. The dragons present, plus D'ian, get "treated" -- if that's the word for it -- to Selaroqoth's mental soundtrack, featuring Highly Anticipative Music. D'ian can't decide between swatting at his own head and Sel's muzzle, and therefore settles mostly for scowling as he slouches toward the entrance, muttering something under his breath about how he's half surprised that the train even made it, and wasn't destined from the first to be "waylaid" somewhere. As word that the tithe train has been spotted spreads, a contingent of individuals who normally work in the storage caverns eventually begin to emerge, ready to do what they can with off-loading and keeping track of inventory and seeing that it winds up where it ought. Amongst them, Avaryk, tugging on a pair of work gloves. Having usually been on the other side of a tithe train - sending things from Harper Hall to whatever gathering location the train of wagons is going to leave from - Eilene is actually rather excited about this arrival too. Enough so that she unabashdly elbows a burly looking young resident lad aside so that she can squeeze between a few others and find herself at the front of the crowd. Thus, she is volunteered for hauling items. Hattie's been in the council room for most of the day, trapped there by lists and forms and numbers half to do with the tithe and half not. As word gets round the bowl, it's Elaruth who reaches the gathering of weyrfolk first, curiosity getting the better of her. She doesn't try to nudge anyone aside or crowd in amongst the group; just lets her superior height serve her well on this occasion, view rather perfect even with all those people in-front of her. The little queen makes not a sound save for the rustle of her wings. Across the bowl, Hattie finally appears on her ledge and starts to make her way down the steps. Chalmecath pops in from between, leading two younger dragons behind him, wings fanned out for a fancy bit of landing work. As they cruise underneath Isyath, he offers up a trumpet of greeting (echoed by the pair of greens behind him) and prepares for his typical elegant landing. Once they've settled on the ground, T'mitl dismounts with a pat to the bronze's neck, and a, "I'm keeping your straps on so you can haul things," offered up as what is obviously a joke: Chalmecath even gives him a sly look. Magdesse is ushered into the Weyr bowl amidst the other candidates, her crossed arms pressing her coat more tightly around her body against the chill temperatures. At present, her hands are in rather tattered woolen gloves rather than work gloves, although strong work gloves are tucked somewhat precariously into her coat pockets. Wrapped in a long coat and carrying a pair of empty bags, Felire's hair has caught in the wind and is blowing around in her face. That doesn't make her unidentifiable, so much as it does make her funny looking -- a couple of friends make rude-but-lovable comments about tying it back as she walks by. She definitely looks somewhat excited; there's an exhilaration in her eyes that indicates more than that she's cold, and she moves toward the back of the crowd forming. The tithe train comes rumbling in through the tunnel, and into the bowl, kicking up dust, which is picked up by the wind. The driver halts the oxen, and begins to climb down - a couple of guards in Southern Boll's livery ride up from the rear, seeking the nearest official looking Fortian. Which is probably Shevena. "Tithe train from Lord Jivrain. Sign here... here... and done." The bureaucratic portion is over amazingly quickly, and the guards step away to water their animals while the headwoman begins to shoo people forward to begin helping unload. Eilene reaches out to tug on Felire's jacket when she walks by, snatching her own hand back quickly and then offering an innocent smile towards her new mentor when the woman walks by. After which she dutifull dons a pair of workgloves (some hapless resident may find their own pair mysteriously missing), and allows herself to be pressed forward towards the wagons so that she can begin hauling some textiles out to pass along to the next poor sod in line. "Anyone else not done this before? Ooh, hey, was that blue I spotted peeking out of that bag... no wait, do.. shoot. I'll have no idea where that wound up." Magdesse tugs her hands out of the shabby woolen gloves, shoving those gloves into her pants pockets, as she watches the exchange between the Boll guards and Shevena. Her gaze sweeps away from the guards once everything is signed off, and onto the condition of the wagons. As she does this, she slips each hand into the oversized work gloves. After urging from one of her peers, she at last she steps forward to assist in unloading the goods. Isyath's greeting of her clutchmate and the two younger dragons that follow him is particularly enthusiastic. It draws Ali's gaze after the pair, and she lifts a hand in mute greeting to T'mitl. It is, however, near D'ian and his singing brown that that the junior weyrwoman finds herself, arms wrapped around her middle, chewing her lower lip. "Selaroqoth seems happy," she remarks, with a smile at the elder brownrider. Elaruth doesn't need that sensitivity of hers to know when not to get in the way. When others surge forward, she retreats to make sure she's not immediately blocking anyone's path or likely to get absolutely surrounding by people and goods. By now, the Weyrwoman has reached the back of the crowd and starts nudging her way through when people don't immediately get out of the path she's decided to follow, headed for Shevena, rolled hides poking out of her pockets. You'd think that Hattie might sport a smile or otherwise looked relieved right now, but her expression is quite grim. "Lose something?" Felire asks, perking up at Eilene's commentary about something blue. "Or are you hunting down something you made?" She has no comment on experience: this isn't her first go on the tithe train arrival. She is, however, watching the entire exchange with suspicious narrowed eyes. "It's gonna be rotten meat and maggoty grain, just you wait." "Would you /shut up/; someone might hear you." "They're all thinkin' it, tell me they ain't!" "Hush!" "I have an idea. How's about you /both/ stuff a sock in it?" Avaryk drily remarks behind the heads of the pair quietly arguing with each other. The storeskeeper waits patiently while the gathered people all shuffle around and get themselves sorted, and finds himself joining a relay line that's formed to pass goods along. And, coincidentally, near-ish to Eilene, allowing him to remark in her direction, "It'll all end up down in stores; once we've got it all inventoried and put away, any one of us can help you find it again." Whatever 'it' is. He missed that part. "Provided you've got the proper requisition, of course," he adds. Esten shrugs further into his jacket, already flipping up the collar about his neck as he watches the tithe train pull up with the dust that accompanies it. With every intent of lending a hand, he begins to step forward only to pause as he catches the comment from Felire. "First time through this too?" What becomes quickly apparent to those stepping in to help unload the train is that things are not... right. Sacks are not as full as they should be. Boxes are half empty. The wagons themselves are sparsely filled. There is, perhaps, less than half the total tithe of the previous Turn. Oh, right. Apparently, D'ian's foul week has led to him completely forgetting that not /all/ of Fort's goldriders are Never Going To Let Him Live That Down, Ever. As such, it takes a moment for him to remember how /smiling/ works, but then Ali gets to have one of her very own, to cherish forever. (Something like that, but they're definitely collector's items!) "He's excited enough," D'ian answers her, and finally takes his hands out of his pockets long enough to give an added hoist to a heavy bundle -- only to think that the people carting it across the way must be lightweights, because it doesn't really seem /that/ heavy to him. D'ian returns to Ali's side a moment later. "How about yon Isyath? She's staying awfully high for the day." T'mitl shoots Ali a return salute that is half respect for rank, and half old-friends greeting; Chalmecath, accordingly, leads his green entourage in the gold's direction. Perhaps she's forgiven him by now for not being at the Weyr when she rose? (If you ask Chalmecath, Riuscyth was good for bloodlines, after all. He approves.) Overhearing the pair of arguers that are Avaryk's current bane, the newly-minted assistant weyrlingmaster slides himself that way to overhear. "Got your crew under control, storeskeeper?" he asks sociably enough. "I stayed inside last time," Felire tells Esten, with a polite enough smile. "Pretty sure it's Eilene's first, though --" She catches a passed box, and the narrow-eyed face comes back, even more discontent. "No, this /really/ can't be right, can it?" "Uh-huh. First time." Eilene agrees, watching the process with an uncommon rapt attention. She almost misses the next sack handed to her, and scrambles to catch it before it winds up with it's contents scattered. And obviously clears her throat to present the near miss /never happened/. "Just trying to catch your attention Felire." she finally replies, that bit of mischeivous spark showing in her gaze. "Wait... requisition? How do I get one of those? It's blue! Don't harper's get dibs on blue. Felire, please tell me we do. It's *blue*." It's very possible that Ali will remember this moment for a long time to come; D'ian's smile turns hers more brilliant by measures. After all, the tithe train has arrived - a feat that not all expected. What's not to be happy about? "She's watching all the people. She says we look like tiny bugs," the dark-haired Fortian murmurs. She doesn't step in to help with the unloading - she probably wouldn't be much use anyway - and instead watches Hattie head towards Shevena. She's unaware of the rumblings yet. Hattie? Is staring at the hidework that accompanied the train, having impolitely all but snatched it right out of Shevena's hands. Staring doesn't do any good, however, and so she hands it back and heads over to the nearest unloaded box to open it, finding that it is, indeed, a box, only it's a box with most of its volume taken up by... air. "What in Faranth's name is he trying to--" the Weyrwoman starts to say (and loudly at that). Jaw set, she steps away from the box, if only to prevent herself from giving it the kicking it looks like she'd sorely like to give it. Magdesse is close enough to Eilene and Felire to give the two women an odd glance as she overhears their comments and Avaryk's. The expression dissolves as she returns to the task at hand, lifting a box from the wagon she is unloading and testing that box with a slight shake and a bit of a grimace. The contents rattle loosely inside. She hands it off to another candidate, and glances back at Felire with raised eyebrows as the woman expresses her own opinion. "I've never done this, but ... aren't tithes to the Weyr supposed to be a bit more generous? This is like shifting around half-empty boxes in my family's wagons after a day of trading in a gather square ..." "Without a doubt," Felire confirms, at Magdesse's question. "Because, I believe, your observation is accurate and these boxes /are/ half-empty." She's not about to open one, though; rather, she's scouting the crowds for Avaryk and the assistant headwomen, attempting to spot the storeskeepers' reactions. She manages to keep her cool, though, and asks Eilene just as likely, "Blue what? Fabric? Dyes? Ink? You're free to ask for it and no one's likely to deny you the privilege." The Southern Boll guards, and the driver, are resting in some shade closer to the water, watching the unloading. /Their/ part of the work is done, and now they're just here to watch until they can turn the empty wagons around and head home. "What's wrong?" Asked of Felire, Esten passes along enough sack with probably too much ease given the weight he presumed and what the reality is. It was courtesy that kept him from stating the obvious. That it's not what it should be. But with the Weyrwoman's near comment is all the confirmation that he needs. Frowning slightly, he glances briefly into the bag to glimpse the contents and their status. "Surely.." It should be more but they traveled with this? "This wagon's half empty!" "What does he think he's playing at?" "His father would never have given us such an insulting tithe." Those Bollians also aren't going very far without being accosted; T'mitl's scattered emotions over the loss of M'lan and Silzoth have bubbled up into outright anger as he hears all the outcry, and he's taking advantage of every strong, long-legged step he can take to get as close to them as possible. And he's glaring. He might be skinny, but he's /tall/ and skinny and has a sizeable dragon backing him up, here. "Hey!" he yells in their direction, thinking nothing of the fact it's not his job to confront them. "Do you have any /idea/ what's going on here?!" "Ooooooh, someone's in trouble if that's the case. Shorting the weyr?" Even Eilene knows that is a /bad/ idea. "Any chance we can get front row tickets for that reaming?" Whatever obsession the girl seems to have with that blue fabric are entirely forgotten; apparently, her memory extends as far as lyrics. Obviously the girl starts looking in every single bag or box that she's handed now, before passing it on. And to Magdesse, well, she mostly has to shrug. "I'll take Felire's word for it, as I've no experience beyond today. Really." Bijedth ambles slowly over from across the Bowl, followed by N'muir on foot trailing along next to a few weyrlings. They all wear grim expressions that only slightly warm at the sight of the hustle and bustle. There's a frown for all the aired opinions, a glance given to the guards and driver -- and the bronzerider approaching them. T'mitl gets a firm look and however long his legs might be, N'muir's voice is a dark bark that carries when he addresses his wingmate. "Wingrider T'mitl." Two words have never had more meaning. Maybe Hattie won't kick anything (or anyone), but with the rising murmurings and comments among the crowd, she throws that energy into a loud, "STOP!" meant to halt as many people as she possibly can with that one word. The breath taken to say more ends up held when she catches sight of T'mitl advancing on the guards and driver, though she doesn't cry out to stop him. Yet. Instead, she adds her voice to his. "Is this it?" she demands. "Are you to watch and report back?" And there's N'muir. Whoops. Felire sounds displeased as she tells Eilene, "I may be required to be present." As the Weyr's legal counsel, of course, which doesn't seem to much please her right now. Maybe because she'd rather watch N'muir punch Lord Jivrain in the face and call it done there. Either way, she neither confirms nor denies anyone /else/ watching. "But yes, actually, a lot of people are in trouble. Us. Until this gets sorted out, we're falling short on resources." She jerks her head in the direction of the two bronzeriders and Hattie, silently. /His/ crew? Avaryk casts a confused glance at T'mitl when he finally figures out the young bronzerider's question was aimed at him. He's not anybody important even in stores, so. Buh? But then the younger man is getting all in a huff and so Avaryk goes back to work. And aside from a growing scowl, he's keeping whatever his thoughts on the obvious lightness of the tithe behind his own teeth. At least until that 'stop' rings out. At that point he straightens, takes a step backward so that he's clearly out of his line, and turns to watch. Alert. Out of curiosity, Magdesse actually opens the next storage crate. "This one's completely fardling empty," she says, somewhat shocked. She slaps the lid back onto it and brushes it out of the way, not even bothering to lift it from the wagon. T'mitl's outburst is heard as well, causing her to stand up straight and peer around, but her view is somewhat blocked by others. The yells from N'muir and Hattie are noted, and Mags stands up on her tiptoes to peer past others. And shortly behind N'muir, although more with a silent-stalking thing going on, is D'ian, whose mood is being communicated to the other dragons of the weyr by Selaroqoth's basso Doom Song. Hey, he's just the good-for-nothing brownrider, right? If someone's going to get in trouble for beating up the tithe train's guards, let it be him, and not T'mitl. Idiot he might be, but he is, also, a young, up-and-coming bronzerider... if he doesn't get himself killed first. "You boys knew about this in advance, I'm guessing," he says, oh-so-lightly. "Seeing as how, of course, you must know your beasts, and what loads they take, and how tired they get." The guards turn, with hands on their swords out of pure habit in reaction to the tone of T'mitl's address. The taller of the guards lifts a brow, his gaze flickering to T'mitl's knot, then back. Then he smirks. "Tithe train," he says, slowly, drawing at the words as if the rider might be slow. Tiiiitheee. Traaaaaain. "You unload it, we leave. What's confusing about that?" The guard's gaze flickers to N'muir, then finally to Hattie, brows drawing downwards. He shrugs, gestures towards the headwoman. "She has the manifest." The manifest, that indicates that a lot more load should be arriving than actually has. What's that about stopping? T'mitl is definitely stopping -- instantly, hard on the heels of N'muir's firm calling of his name. Young bronzerider heeds to older, as well as wingmate to wingmate, rider to Weyrleader. He freezes where he is, but doesn't take a step back. Technically, the only order he heard was to stop, and he's done that. "They might not have," he pipes up, as D'ian speaks, rider ranks closing in on Boll's train crew. "That's what I wanted to know. And you know very well, mister, that the manifest --" Wait, N'muir and Hattie are both looking at him. V'rel is likely not far behind, either. T'mitl stops talking. Esten murmurs somewhat to himself but easily heard by Eliene and Felire, "Surely, they're doing much better than this." Once Hattie's command to stop is clearly heard, the sack is better to be slung over one arm with its contents hanging over - what amount is there. To his credit, he doesn't join in on the glaring but he does look more interested in the responses from the Boll guards and the men with them. That's where his attention remains, with the sack set aside and both arms folding across his chest. "Can Fort bring this to the Weyr Council for redress?" A surpringly mature question to come from Eilene as she straightens to give the proceedings a closer eye. "Put up a fight at the next Conclave perhaps? They can't really allow the Weyr to go short on food can they?" Now, at least, there is a frown on the girl's face when whatever snippets of conversation can make their way back to the crowd actually *get* there. "Should you go over there? To help?" She'll follow. Then her voice drops to a whisper. "I bet I could pick their pockets for notes or instructions and they would never know." The Bollian's, obviously. No really. Ali is not that fond of confrontation. Her eyes widen as she hears Hattie's call, but she sees N'muir is over in that direction, too, and so she retreats, moving towards the headwoman and murmuring to her. "Even a five turn old could see that that manifest doesn't tally with what's in-front of us," Hattie starts to insist. "It's not-" Whatever she might have been about to say, she stops. What she doesn't stop doing is glaring right at those that accompanied the train, that is until she looks back at the crowd and the boxes and all the emptiness that should contain what's to get the Weyr through the winter. For once, she looks... lost. A lot of the weyrfolk, have in fact, stopped with the unloading, and are just... watching the unfolding drama. Watching to see what the Weyrleaders do. "It's a tithe of storage items, but nothing to put in stores," Magdesse remarks 'softly', although anyone near enough to her is likely to hear the words. The words won't carry past that. Settling back onto her heels, Magda presses past a resident and another candidate (they're taller than she is) to get a better look at the interactions between the guards and the Weyrleaders. She glances quickly at Eilene, stating "Probably not a good idea" as she quickly glances away from her and to the drama at hand. D'ian scoffs. Loudly. He doesn't even glance at T'mitl; he's too busy staring down the lead guardsman, as best he can -- and with a face as weathered, old, and ugly as his own, that's a lot of down that can be stared! /Especially/ when he can tell that even the Weyrwoman is upset, and in her condition, too... For the moment, at least, his own ire toward Hattie is shelved. He's /bristling/. "There's no way a man can ride a wagon all /that/ long and /not/ know what sort of reaction he's getting from animals, based on a full or a half-full wagon." Even /he/ knows that! "So tell us, /please/," he growls, "if you were /fully/ aware of your Lord's treachery, or if this is a surprise to you, because right now I'm thinking you're laughing at us." Mouthy brownrider, isn't he? Felire is nodding as Eilene speaks -- at first. The suggestion of pickpocketing gets a grim face and, "We're meant to /interpret/ the law, dear, not break it." That, and then the rest: "They certainly can, and I should hope they will, but the tensions here are high and I don't know what the Holder thinks he's getting at, but there's a lot of bad blood going back quite a bit, now -- it'll be a hard story to piece together as regards the reasoning behind this. It is, of course, an illegal and hostile action." And, in a lower voice, she adds for the apprentice's benefit, "Performing more illegal and hostile actions in retaliation will just get us all in trouble. Do try to stay calm." Eilene tries her level best to smother a pout. Though it doesn't quite work. "Are you certain a little rifling is completely uncalled for?" she hisses, just o keep her voice low. "It's one of the other harpers that taught me how, afterall." No? Felire's not buying it? Sigh. "Yes ma'am." is conceded, after the woman's last few words. "I'm mostly curious. I mean, about how they figure to get away with it, and what their story will be. I bet this would make a -great- song. For, uh, about a decade from now when people aren't so mad." Avaryk, at this point, is moved to do more than just stand there and watch. He begins to move forward through the crowd, murmuring 'excuse me's where he can but he's rather more intent on working his way closer to dragonriders and guards than he is in being mannerly. When he's gotten a bit closer, he decides to lift his voice and butt in, "Whatever these men may or may not have been aware of, or suspicious of, they are required to obey their Lord's orders just as we are required to obey our Weyrleaders'. Our quarrel should not be with them." Perhaps he should have just kept his mouth shut, but he served with those guards. Very briefly, but still. The Bollian guard just shrugs, and his gaze turns away from Hattie as she trails off, to D'ian. "I just ride along. I don't ask questions." Behind the two guards, the driver's sweating, looking particularly nervous. Probably because of all the angry, yelling riders. In fact, the other guard is looking nervous, too: he's fingering his sword. "...accusing us of treachery," he mutters, low and furious. The taller guard waves him back, more nonchalant. T'mitl remains silent, since he values things like his knot, his weyr and his jaw being in one piece -- but he does shoot Avaryk an enthusiastic and grateful look for his words. That's sort of where he was going with it, after all! He just wanted answers! ... None of which he's apparently going to be getting anytime soon. The bronzerider remains where he's staring down the group, but does start to slump a little bit. In the background, Chalmecath meanders closer to Bijedth. N'muir glares next at D'ian but for whatever reason lets the brownrider off without the same warning he gave T'mitl - at first. But the word 'treachery' earns D'ian a sharp glare. "Keep your mouth shut, brownrider, or I will shut it for you." His eyes shift to the guards. "No one is accusing Lord Boll of anything. Boll has always delivered a generous tithe. Does the manifest indicate a heftier tithe was sent from the Hold than is here?" He approaches Hattie, hand open in a silent request for the manifest. D'ian is /just/ about to tear into drivers and guards alike, once again, when instead he -- stops. And looks /completely/ furious, instead. Maybe if he just glares them all into submission, his point will come across, right? Maybe one of them will attack him, and then the lot of them can get arrested for Assaulting a Dragonrider -- even if it's a dragonrider on outs with the Weyrwoman, who D'ian is once again Not Looking At. Felire is definitely not buying it. She is, however, remembering that she does have a job to do, and so she tells Eilene, "Let's go find out, then, just keep quiet," and hops to it. Stepping quickly through the crowd and muttering 'excuse me's,' Fort Weyr's Harper steps up a few paces behind Hattie, attempting to catch Weyrwoman and Weyrleader's eye. One brow up, she's merely indicating her presence: here I am for the inevitable moment when something can be proven to be illegal. Eilene glances between N'muir and D'ian. Once. Twice. And for some reason looks to be biting on her lower lip and struggling not to laugh. Felire catches her attention before she does something thoroughly stupid though, and her eyes light up. "Okay!" See that dimple? It's a totally innocent one. She only half hides behind Felire too, when they approach the scene. Silently, Hattie heads the few steps back to Shevena to retrieve the manifest, requests it more politely this time, reaching rather than snatching, and hands it over to N'muir. "It's empty crates," she murmurs. "The /units/ are here, but the contents /aren't/." Regardless of any attention given to weaponry, she steps from N'muir's side, perhaps trying to create a reason for the shortage with, "Were you attacked on the journey here? Are you afraid to return to your Lord and tell him that?" she asks. "Or did /you/..." They can finish that last accusation for themselves, surely. Magdesse manages to slip a few rows forward through the disgruntled crowd before managing to find a spot where she can see without standing on her tiptoes. Other than that, she says and does nothing. The Bollian guard nods towards N'muir, happy, it seems to latch into a calmer head. "I don't think we will accept your normal offer of hospitality," the taller guard says, not that it's been offered. "I think we'll bed down at the Hold for the night. Given the state of your... riders, Weyrleader." He may say riders, but his glance flickers to Hattie, mostly. The shorter of the guards growls, "We did our /job/, ma'am." His fingers clench around the hilt of the sword, though he quietens at the sharp look from the taller guard. "Nothing out of the ordinary. We stopped at Fort Sea Hold on the way up, to shelter out a storm. Normally we push through." T'mitl may not be doing much but standing there and staring, but Chalmecath apparently has either orders or a plan -- definitely orders, as he turns to look back at Bijedth as he rises to all fours and moves slowly, cautiously, and an attempt at as unnoticeably as possible toward the Weyr's entrance. They weren't planning to /leave/ just now, were they? Looks like not: no safe way to get the train around the bronze dragon who's starting to splay his wings. It's entirely possible, considering the way Selaroqoth is only looking at Chalmecath, that nobody in the Weyr's actual management, per se, told the big brown anything at all. But he's in a bad mood -- any dragon could tell /that/, they only had to listen to his soundtrack -- and he's decided, it would seem, that the sunniest, warmest chunk of rock -- the best place in the entire bowl to take a nap, in fact -- is right on the other side of the tunnel entrance from Chalmecath, and so now he's sprawled out to take up as much room -- er, that is, "sun" -- as possible, with his nose pointed directly at his rider and the confrontation with the wagon train's humans. Esten catches a glimpse of Magdesse as she passes by, slipping into step behind her for a closer observation of the goings on with a tap of one finger against her shoulder. Just to indicate his presence. Eilene tugs a bit on the hem of Felire's coat, leaning up to whisper about the big bronze dragon now blocking the way out of the Weyr. Is that a bit of a smirk on her face, as she takes this all in? You bet it is. Next, her eyes dart around to look behind her. "Shouldn't they have their own copy of the manifest?" is whispered then, as she tries to help. But without actually opening her yap and drawing attention to hrself. Avaryk's back to just standing and watching, though his focus has become almost solely directed towards that twitchy guard. Though it seems his taller companion has his under control for now, the storeskeeper still edges -- as unobtrusively as possible -- around to try and place himself in a better position to do... something. Just in case. "/I/ think you'll be more careful, unless you wish to be seen to threaten a Weyrwoman," Hattie enunciates very carefully to that shorter guard, though, given her current state, she's not so foolish as to advance on him or the other. Meanwhile, Elaruth is taking her usual slow, steady steps towards Chalmecath and Selaroqoth, not to reprimand, but to join them, wings half-unfurled. The Weyrwoman turns and murmurs in the nearest person's ear to start unloading again and pass the word on, meaning for it to ripple through the crowd without a loud, barked command. Felire and Eilene are given a long look and, "I hope you've got good memories." Clearly she'll be wanting this written up. "It'll match." Felire sounds tired and discouraged as she answers Eilene's question, though her expression did brighten for a moment in regard to the entrance-blocking dragons. "Because everything on the manifest technically appears here -- box of this, box of that. We've got the boxes." Long, exasperated sigh. And then a wink in Hattie's direction. "Always have, ma'am." Damn these conflicting orders! Well, theoretically, he wouldn't /have/ to violate Hattie's in following N'muir's... and it would seem that Hattie's order of 'stop' /has/ been superceded, which is clearly why D'ian has gone back to Looming Ominously, sort of creep-stepping closer to the guards, instead of just Glaring Angrily. Just /let/ that twitchy guard twitch /one more time/. Go right ahead, punk. Make D'ian's day. It's been a bad one so far. Eilene can't bring herself to actually say aloud that she has a good memory. Because, well - technically she doesn't. So she just flashes the Weyrwoman a reassuring smile. That's why Felire is here! Right? Right. "Sneaky, that. They aren't exactly going to SAY half-boxes on the manifest." she agrees, with a sigh. "What about that Hold they stopped at? Guess there's no way to prove anything there either..." And it appears the brownrider isn't the only one who is slowly closing in on the guards -- T'mitl, once glancing significantly in Chalmecath's direction, has changed his path so he's going around and coming up from behind, drawing what is most definitely rope from his jacket pocket. Again with the long, slow and carefully plotted steps. "Doesn't look like," he says, as he makes his way around, "you're leaving /just/ yet, does it?" Hattie's assurance has Bijedth rising to action and N'muir holding onto the hilt of his blade without unsheathing it. "You aren't leaving, Guard," the Weyrleader informs. "You haven't done your job. We are missing goods that are recorded as being sent out of the Hold, and are therefore /your/ responsibility. You will be held accountable for theft until the rest of our tithe is recovered." A look is sent to Avaryk and a nod of the head given as invitation as N'muir approaches the guards with intention. "Down to the cells, boys." Which will leave someone else to deal with what to do with the tithe. Magdesse glances back as Esten taps her shoulder, her gaze wide-eyed with a combination of curiosity and disbelief for the present situation. "I hadn't realized the situation was as bad as ... this," she says to him, gesturing to the wagons. Her attention snaps towards Hattie as the Weyrwoman tells off the guard. As the rippling murmur of getting back to unloading reaches Mags, she begins to turn around, only to pause to watch what will become of the guards as Hattie orders their incarceration. "Threat?" The taller guard looks blankly at Hattie. "You're the one accusing /us/ of treachery, Weyrwoman," the guard remains her, staidly, then immediately turns to N'muir again. The shorter guard has noticed the not-so-subtle position of the bronze and brown, and drawers the taller one's attention in that direction. "Is there an intention to keep us here against our will, Weyrleader?" The taller one asks, with a pointed nod at the dragons. "If you have an issue with the tithe, you are welcome to bring it up with our Lord. Accusing us of theft without any proof, though... I would think you're in bad enough with Southern Boll already that you might want to rethink that, sir." The driver is panicking. Probably because he's seen T'mitl creeping up behind them. With /rope/. He lets out a terrified yell and goes bolting off across the bowl. Is D'ian allowed to talk yet? Is he? Is he? Does it /matter/, because he's going to anyway. "Proof's all around, /guardsman/," he grates out, jaw jutting forward. "Or are you doubting the sworn word of a Harper as verification to what she's observed?" At least Felire is a real Harper, unlike that bratty apprentice of hers; and this is probably the first time he's said something close to complimentary about Felire in company. Ever. "If you were innocent of this, you'd have no reason to go rattling your swords about when riders are understandably upset at the insult we've been dealt!" But hey: he isn't /attacking/ them! Technically. Eilene well and truly -gawks- at Hattie when she sends the guards to jail. JAIL! "I like her. Can I stay here?" The apprentice harper asks this without a trace of irony. "Unless I have to stay an apprentice forever. Did you see that? She just sent them to the cells!" She is *far* too gleeful. "I can sing all the naughty songs at them as punishment. You know, the ones that got me in trouble to start with." Nod. Avaryk looks a bit startled to catch N'muir's nod, but is quick to wipe his surprise beneath a grim expression. No more being subtle, he steps forward to openly join the dragonriders in their little cordon. But before he can get there, the driver bolts and so the storeskeeper bolts off after him with a shouted, "No you don't!" Long legs take him at an angle to catch up with the driver, but given he doesn't know if the man has a dagger hidden on him or something of that nature, once he's got the momentum and is close enough, the Southerner drops into a skidding slide with the hopes of intercepting and tripping the would-be escapee. Eat Fortian dirt, pal! "I observed very little," Felire pipes up, and she's giving D'ian a significant look -- one that isn't annoyed, so much as the kind of look that is doing it's best to say 'don't spout out what you can't back up in court.' "And I have yet to take any /sworn/ words, though I can assure you, when the time is right, I will be." She has to do her best to maintain as much neutrality as possible, but as she speaks, her eyes widen slightly and she steps closer to Hattie. "Except that -- make sure no one /opens/ any more of the boxes, yet! If they're opened it's all impossible to prove." Now she looks /really/ annoyed. "What a fool!" exclaims Magdesse loudly at the panicked driver's actions, turning to watch the man's attempted escape. "What a complete and utter fool." Her mouth drops open at Avaryk's pursuit. "Oh, not good," she murmurs to Esten, and then she gapes at him as he tells her to stay there. She watches in disbelief as he also goes after the driver. The driver can be heard yelling something about riders attacking him, and crazy weyrfolk. Perhaps there's something in that theory, given Avaryk's sliding dive in front of him that sends him sprawling onto his face, groaning briefly before lapsing unconscious. The guards look in that direction. The taller's one's jaw clenches, his patience wearing patently thin. "And now you can add assault to the list of charges against Southern Boll's residents." Then he looks back to N'muir. "Where are the cells?" Apparently he's not willing to be hogtied and dragged when his legs work just fine. Eilene claps a hand over her mouth so that she doesn't laugh really, really, loudly. Seeing that driver dash off and then someone... yeah. She thinks that's pretty hysterical. The choking sound behind her hand is her method of pulling herself together before pasting on a completely composed expression. "Nobody told me that the Weyr is so entertaining." she murmurs. "I was just about to ask if you'd rather walk or be dragged," says T'mitl, who looks rather grim about the entire unfolding. He also looks rather tired, having initially shot off after the driver, and, realizing the mob had it as under control as possible, circled back. "Since I would rather not /have/ to tie anyone's wrists. You're likely just witnesses." But what does he know? "That other guy, though, resisting arrest --" "I have no issue with the tithe that Lord Boll sent," N'muir corrects as he intends to circle around the guard and press him forward to the caverns. "I have no doubt that Lord Boll sent us everything on that list in full. What I /am/ suggesting is that you have betrayed your Lord and let his tithe go missing under your watch. Now, unless you want to accuse your Lord of not sending the Weyr a full tithe... you'd best come enjoy the hospitality of our cells quietly." A dark look is fixed upon the guards. A hand gestures to the caverns at the driver's words. "Storeskeeper, you'd better accompany the man to the cells. I wouldn't want him to trip again." The taller guard's features darken at the Weyrleader's words, but he nods all the same. "Very well, Weyrleader." With a nod of head to indicate that the other guard follow him, he steps, straight-backed, towards the caverns, as if the escort is one of honor. Hattie may have deferred to her Weyrleader for once, but, in the midst of trying to pretend that she can't see what is happening, she pauses to add her voice to his, insisting, "Nobody will be hurt and nobody should /seek/ to hurt." Just /who/ that is directed to remains unclear; perhaps it's for everyone from those guards to N'muir himself. "And nobody will be held indefinitely." Escort? Carry is a better word. The driver's groggily lying there, unhelpfullike in that regard. "I'll go with them?" T'mitl queries of N'muir, head tilted just slightly in questioning -- Chalmecath still shows no sign of wanting to let anybody leave the Weyr, and remains on his haunches, wings fanned out. Not that a single human couldn't pass him, but getting a whole train by would be a giant hassle. Esten doesn't need to tackle the man after all, his earlier sprint slowing more to a jog as he comes up to Avaryk and the driver who seems to be unmoving. Coming to a kneel beside him, he looks to his fellow weyrfolk with a simple, "You're right? This fellow though..." Taking the man by the shoulders in an attempt to roll him over for any signs of any further injury - landing on the face couldn't be good. "Wonder why he bolted," he asks, only in part innocently, taking the other arm to assist in the hefting. D'ian, scowling, falls in line as part of the guards' escort to the cells. Now, /he's/ pretty sure that a few well-placed broken ribs would get the guards spilling out their confessions... but, grudging or not, he's also at least a little bit willing to accept that there /are/ boundaries between justifiable actions and illegal ones, and can manage to keep hold of his temper long enough to -- well, /long enough/. /After/ they're locked up, of course, he's going to go look for someone willing to help him get his temper out, and so tomorrow he and whoever it is will probably be sporting more bruises than anyone who didn't already know him would have any reason to expect. As the guards (and driver) are escorted away, Shevena (along with Ali) move amongst the gossiping crowd, "Please, everyone. There's food available in the caverns -- as the Journeyman Harper's asked us not to touch the tithe for now, you can go ahead and eat. Thank you for your help." Ali's looking... well, nauseated, really, but she's covering it well, forcing a smile. And, in turn, Felire looks a bit -- guilty. "Sorry about that, weyrwoman," she says gently as she takes a few steps closer to Ali. "I'm sure it's a giant hassle to have to leave it all as is, but it needs to be independently verified as a faulty tithe." Guilty and a little bit frowny. "I'm fine," Avaryk replies to that query with a nod, hefting the driver by his other arm. "Probably just scared. Between that one rider's face," Hi, D'ian! "and the guard who get fingering his sword, he likely thought he was going to end up in the middle of a bloodbath." There might be some wobbling while two men get him balanced between them, but soon enough they'll be dragging him off after the guards. N'muir nods after T'mitl and lets his approval fall on D'ian's actions as well. Hand still gripping the hilt of his blade, the Weyrleader looks after the weyrfolk moving towards the caverns and heaves a strained sigh before turning away from the crowd and heading to the stables, likely to inform the stablemaster of the beasts about to come under his temporary care. "Couldn't just so smoothly, could it?" he mutters to himself, and lets the shadows of the stables swallow him and his sour mood under its cover. |
Leave A Comment