Logs:Numbers Don't Lie
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 22 September, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, Hattie |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ali comes to Hattie with a proposal for replacing the stolen marks. |
| Where: Council Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 11, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: T'rev/Mentions, Reyvar/Mentions, Shevena/Mentions |
| Late afternoon, there's a request to Hattie - via Elaruth and Isyath - to join her junior in the Council Room. It's obvious the other goldrider is anxious, and has spent some time preparing - there's a pot of steaming, fresh tea on the table, as well as fresh bread and a selection of fruits laid out on a tray. Ali's standing by one of the chairs to the side of the table, one hand resting on the back, the other pressed against her stomach in a kind of distracted way. The bump there is noticeable, now: which is probably why the dark-haired woman's started wearing looser clothing, and keeping that familiar shawl of hers wrapped around her in public. Hattie is never /not/ punctual, unless delayed by her children or seeking to make a point of being late, and it's just not evident which of these has her not arriving at the council room as soon as the request is made. One might think that she's taking her sweet time, since she also doesn't appear at all rushed when the sound of heels echoes through from Elaruth's ledge and the Weyrwoman finally makes an appearance, satchel slung across her shoulder and a small collection of hides in the crook of one arm. She pauses in the entrance to the room, right by the door, and for a moment it seems that she might walk out again and into her weyr instead. "Elaruth wasn't exactly clear about the reason you wanted to speak to me." Being late doesn't help Ali's anxiousness, and the relief when Hattie does finally arrive is visible in her expression. "I... thank you for coming, Weyrwoman. I was hoping we could talk, about-" a moment's hesitation, and a check around the room - though it's not like she wouldn't have noticed anyone else being present, "-about repayment. I have an idea I'd like to run by you." She's moving across to the pot of tea, pouring out a cup for the other goldrider, then herself. It helps with the younger goldrider's equilibrium, enough that after a breath, she says, "Please." "I highly doubt that you will be able to repay enough to make a difference to the state of our stores before winter sets in," Hattie remarks, arching a brow. She doesn't quite look at Ali at all, but around or past her, and when she finally takes steps into the room, she keeps the table in its centre between them. The hides, she sets down on the table, in-front of her chosen chair, whilst her satchel is slung down into the next seat over. And still she doesn't /sit down/. "And, of course, the closer we get to winter and people /needing/ things, the higher the prices lift for even common goods." A noticeable wince from the other goldrider, before Ali straightens and glances down at her own cup. She, too, remains standing, as if she can't, or doesn't want to sit before Hattie does. She squares her shoulders, but forges on: "My- my brother, Rey, is staying with me. And I was thinking, he-" she stops, shakes her head, and takes a breath. "I want to start a gambling place. It can be... unofficial, if you prefer. There's small games here and there in the area, but there's nothing serious unless you go down Fort Sea way, so we'll get interest from the Hold and nearby Crafts, as well as some of the smaller holds nearby. Rey- he spent a few Turns at Bitra, so he knows the inner workings of running a place like this. If we do card and dice games, we'll generate a lot of interest. I- I don't know if it will help us before winter, but it will ease things /during/ it." Hattie gives a harsh bark of a laugh and simple stares at Ali, incredulous, for the span of a few moments. "Let me get this straight," she begins, shaking her head. "You steal a substantial sum from this Weyr for this man and /now/ you want to perpetuate theft in /my/ Weyr?" Her hands curl atop the back of her chair. "You want to bring all sorts of lowlifes into Fort to be tricked out of their marks, so that we can use them to try and feed people who have done /nothing wrong/ and have nothing to do with your little theft or Astivan thinking with his trousers?" She shakes her head, hands starting to reach for the hides she just set down. "And of course, none of these people will come back to hurt anyone when they /lose/. Faranth knows who you gave those marks to to bring your brother here." "Flint already hosts weekly card games - this is just taking it wider. With your permission," Ali says, fingers twisting together and pressing tightly. "I can't say I know what will happen with the people it will bring. I can't say that nothing bad will happen. But even without this, bad things have happened to us. Even when we've kept our noses clean, we get pulled into- to things like /Boll/-" she stops, taking a sharp breath. "I want us to take control. If- if we control the bad elements, if they owe /us/, then it shifts the balance of power in our favor. I'd- rather have them inside looking out, then outside looking in." Hattie snorts. "Flint's card games are /harmless/. It's a few riders quibbling over tiny amounts or just who buys the next round. It's /T'rev/, for Faranth's sake." She snatches those hides back up just to give herself something to do, then drags the chair upon which her satchel sits out and starts to unbuckle the bag to shove them inside. "Funny that you ask my permission, when you seem to have this all planned out. You even brought in a /specialist/ already." And that's definitely not a compliment. "If I say no, there's no way that I can trust that you won't go and do this behind my back. I could head into the caverns one afternoon and find our cells full of /criminals/." "If you say no, I won't do it. I'll- find some other way." Although the slight falter does rather suggest Ali has no other backup plans. Her chin lifts at the latter comment, the first hint of heat, rather than supplication, beginning to creep into the junior's voice. "I won't go behind your back, Weyrwoman. I could've done that already, if that's what I wanted. What I /want/-" a hitch of breath, "Is to make up for what I've done. To try- try and make up for it, anyway." "So, you've thought about it." Going behind her back. Hattie's smirk is a cold, triumphant little thing that speaks volumes about what recent months have done for her faith in anyone. "It seems to me that this is all very much just an excuse. You need to give your brother something to do, because he isn't earning his keep. In-fact, he's cost us more than anyone here, save for you and I." All those supplies sent to Boll. "You were afraid of Bea and Orialu and you want to bring just that sort of person here. What will you do when you see murderers here? Hide away again?" No sarcasm there, or taunting, but a very real question. "My brother's been working. He started taking shift tending bar. I can't just abandon him, no matter what he's done /before/." Ali unfolds her fingers long enough to press against the back of the other chair, leaning against it. "No." That is an emphatic answer to the last question. "I didn't cower behind guards when everyone said we should be protected. I won't hide. This is my /home/, and I'll fight for it. Just as I'll fight to earn your trust again, Weyrwoman. I won't do this without your permission- you have my word." "Oh, good." Now that /is/ sarcasm, but Hattie manages to bite back most of the comment that follows on its heels, turning it into a unintelligible muttering. "I don't think you've thought this through or seen the potential consequences. You're just seeing the marks and a way to ease your conscience, because you're going to feel worse and worse when you see people going without." Out of nowhere, she lets rip with a harsh curse and grabs for the chair in-front of her to reluctantly sit down, hands immediately finding her boots to tear them off. Day one in normal footwear: fail. "Bring me numbers and projections and I'll think about it. Get Shevena to check them. Numbers don't lie." Most of the time. Without thinking, Ali pushes away from her chair and starts to round to the other side of the table, slowing as she reaches the head and sees that Hattie has seated herself. There's concern in the junior's gaze, and she chews her lower lip for a moment. Thankfully, she has enough sense not to mention the h-word, knowing how much Hattie dislikes the interference of the healers. "I'll work up numbers and have them for you in a few days." Another hesitation. "Is there- anything you need? Anything I can bring you?" In a flash of temper, Hattie throws one of her offending boots low across the floor behind her, followed by the other, casting them out of her line of sight. "Proof that we've timed it and somehow undone this whole mess," she mutters, words slipping free before she has her guard up again. It's a lapse that she appears momentarily deeply disappointed with, a look of pure self-loathing directed down at her feet. She can't look up at Ali, but only at her own knees when she murmurs, "...You're going to have a /baby/ and you want to draw criminals and murderers and gamblers to your /home/. /Think/ about it, Ali." "I- I wish we could," Ali says with a heated sentiment, chewing her lip as she looks at one of the discarded boots. Hattie's words have her pressing a hand to her stomach, passing across the swell there with an exhale of breath. "Weyrwoman," she begins, slowly, "There are /already/ murderers and criminals and gamblers here. The last six Turns living here has taught me that. Wouldn't you rather know who they are- maybe have some sort of control, some sort of influence over them? Imagine if we'd held the debt of people who might've heard what the renegade riders were planning, might've told us in exchange for some of their debt?" She lets a few moments pass, hands visibly shaking as she rests them on the chair. "I don't /want/ this. But I believe what it gives us will outweigh /not/ doing it. We need- need some control. We need to stop reacting to things." "There's a difference between knowing who they are and inviting more in," Hattie insists, gaze travelling along a path from her feet to the door, as though calculating how best she might make a run for it. "You were desperate enough to steal marks to save your brother from whomever or whatever wanted the money. You can't be so naive as to believe that the same sort of person won't turn up here; that we won't end up with that type holding other people's family to ransom." She eyes the open door again, determination setting in. "If this Weyr starts something that you can't finish, it all rests on your shoulders." As for the rest of it - those imaginings and influences and control - it's with a weary sigh and as she pushes herself to her feet that Hattie declares, "I don't care, Ali. I just don't care." There's the slightest of twitches, but Ali's murmuring, "He doesn't know who I am. And it's- if it doesn't work out, we'll shut it down. We control it; we decide." She sounds determined, though how much of that is naivete is hard to say. "I understand, Weyrwoman." When Hattie starts to rise, she steps around, closer. A moment's hesitation, and the dark-haired woman says, "I know that's not true, Hattie. You /do/ care. And I'll make it /right/, I will." Hattie probably doesn't know how very much she is the awkward picture of baby Elaruth detesting the feel of her sensitive paws against stone, or she /does/ and that's what drives her onwards, towards Ali - past her - and to the door that leads back into her own weyr. "You better hope," is all she has for her junior, with no clarification to follow. Hope that, if they go ahead, nothing awful happens? Hope that it isn't true; that she /does/ care and things will be made right? She'll leave it for Ali to interpret. There's no look back. Nothing to suggest that she'll yield to anything, even belief. Ali starts to lift a hand as Hattie nears, as if maybe to stop her, or offer a word of comfort- something, but she bites her lip instead, watching her pass. It's hard to say how she interprets it, but it's only once Hattie has left that the junior sinks into one of the chairs, reaching for the cooling tea as if to try and calm her nerves. |
Leave A Comment