Logs:Tiriana is... Different
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| RL Date: 20 February, 2010 |
| Who: At're, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del shares too much of the weyr's difficulties with At're, but at least knows when to keep his mouth shut about Tiriana. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 1, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Cirse/Mentions, Isobel/Mentions, Nakasha/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern. Not one to typically disdain duty, At're of Fort-- perhaps a surprise, then, that he is to be found here, rather than elsewhere, presumably running his errands. Well, not /his/ errands, exactly, but... Well. The wiry little bluerider he was here to meet with apparently invited him to have a drink, and then that turned into two, or three, or- it probably ended up being several. Thus, the senior weyrling from Fort is here, trying his damnedest to sober up before the jump back home. Given it /isn't/ all that common for foreign weyrlings to be present in the Snowasis, and given Cadejoth likely keeps abrest of visitors, even when as distracted as he currently is (eggs, eggs, eggs, EGGS), perhaps it's no surprise that as K'del's gaze flicks onto At're, the weyrling gets a genuine look of consideration. The Weyrleader stands up near the bar, nursing a glass of some kind of dark alcohol; after a few moments more, he straightens his stance, and begins to head in At're's direction. "High Reaches' duties, Weyrling." It's /so/ much fun being turns younger than weyrlings. No, really! For all of aforementioned alcohol, At're is blessed to have the fortitude to not /show/ such, or at least sloppiness. One who knows him would recognize a looseness about his typically hard-set shoulders, an ease to his smile; but they are slight things, to be sure. "Fort's, to you, sir," after a very covert knot inspection. "And my own congratulations, to you and your Cadejoth. It is quite a clutch." Easy amiability, the mark of Trey's personality- but he sits up just a bit more than he did before, that heightened self-conciousness that alcohol can bring outlined in his way he holds himself. K'del looks pleased - and, indeed, why shouldn't he be? - with the congratulations, tipping his head forward in a magnanimous kind of gesture. "Thank you," he says, genuinely. "Cadejoth's delighted to hear that other people appreciate his clutch as much as he does." If there's a little roll of the eyes, well, it's only a /very/ little one, clearly a matter of fond amusement at his lifemate's delight. He shifts, to lean up against a handy nearby surface, and adds, "You've got me at a disadvantage-- what's your name, and what brings to to the Reaches?" He's casual, too, his questions clearly not intended as a grilling, or to indicate suspiciousness. "Ah, my apologies, sir," At're replies, inclining his chin in a slight bob- "At're, of bronze Khazioth. We're going through our last wing shadowing, and apparently," and here his light baritone turns wry, "A rite of passage is picking up booze for the wing before graduating. Thus..." He gestures at the crate at his feet, some type of rot-gut whiskey. "Here I am. A favor owed," vaguely, to explain why High Reaches rather than-- someplace more convenient. "I should be back by now, but your S'reno made me drink with him before he'd pay out." He gestures to his klah, now, as if that... explains the world. If K'del looks slightly confused towards the beginning of that explanation, presumably in relation to why High Reaches, it's an impression long gone by the time the other bronzerider finishes; ultimately, he just nods, easily, letting it all pass. Maybe it's the whiskey in his own glass, maybe it's jut the way it is. Around said glass, after another small sip of the stuff, he says, laughingly, "It's tradition. Can't pick up booze without having a drink. It'd be-- dunno. Just wrong." Pausing for a moment, he then adds, "You Stood with my sister, I think. Must have, given timing. Not that she ended up standing, in the end, but-- still. And here you are, just about graduated, right?" He's presumably musing about something, given the oddness of that statement. "Anyway-- K'del. Is my name, I mean. If we can be casual?" "Your siste..." Eyes narrow, in distinct thought. At're typically is a bit quicker on the uptake - or remembering - but right now? He's sort of dense. Or maybe alcoholically fuzzy is more of a better term... In other words, it takes a moment, then it's dawning on him- ahah! "Nakasha, right? She-- she's a friend of my sister's. Isobel," he adds on. "Last I knew, at least," in that absentminded way when someone's trying to drum up relevent facts. "K'del it is, if you'll call me At're," the young man agrees with a slightly lopsided grin. "I would like to state, before I forget-- I have a suspicion." He leans in closer; "I think your bartender is spiking the klah." K'del waits, while At're, works through that one, amusement marked in his expression; when the other bronzerider gets to the correct conclusion, he bobs his head easily, pleased. "Nakasha. Kash. Right. Know they were pretty friendly, don't know if they still write or what, now, what with Kash being at Tillek with my folks, and your sister-- Fort Hold, isn't it?" Which means he's probably worked out the bloodlines, and maybe that makes him pause /just/ a little bit. But; "At're, then. And--" Active amusement, this time, albeit part hidden around the rim of his glass, where his mouth lingers, "What do you expect? It's a /bar/." Beat. "We're supposedly all alcoholics here, anyway." Yes, but At're's the third-- well, second son, now, what with Vinsley's traitorism. And Impressed, at that, so his Gar bloodline isn't really of any concern at this point. He doesn't vocalize that point, instead shrugs a shoulder at the question of if they still do converse. "I know Isobel has been significantly busy, these days. I see her less and less," with a bit of wistfulness about the tone. "And less again once she has a child, I reckon." Headshake. Back to lighter issues! "You're right, of course," with a boyish grin - "Perhaps I should move from the bar to the living caverns." Though it's very obvious he's not moving anywhere, anytime soon. "At least you've given everyone a reason to celebrate," he quips soon after- "Twenty eggs." Head shakes, laughter showing in his eyes. "Must have been a good flight." But to the seventh son of a nobody holder from Tillek? Still counts for something. K'del only nods, presumably moving on from such thoughts to more pleasant ones, though there's a knowing nod at that wistfulness. "A shame, that," he murmurs. "Not seeing one's family as much as one would like." It's evidently something he, too, feels. "Could always /specify/ what kind of klah you're after," he suggests, then, moving on to the more cheerful subjects with greater pleasure. "But: yes! Twenty-eggs, and one of them gold. It was a--" He breaks off again, twisting his lips mirthfully as he shifts his glass in his hand. "Quite a flight," is his eventual not-quite-matching continuation of the sentence he cut off. "We needed it, though. Only one queen-- rather limits things." "I don't mind missing /some/ of my relatives, if you know what I mean," At're comments, wryly. "But Isobel-- she and I looked after one another, growing up." Headshake here, then Trey carries forth onto much nicer topics... "Twenty. Such a number," he marvels, thoughtfully. "I heard of your-- problems," regarding the solitary gold. "With your junior," tactfully added on. "Fort only has the two, you know, so I don't think that only having the one would be a problem, too bad, though, right? And your senior's a strong one, from all statements I've heard, and now with the egg, the... problem really becomes mute, I suppose," and he totally didn't just ramble his way throughout all that. Okay, yeah, he did. "Hopefully you won't get stuck with some back-woods beastcrafter's child, running half the weyr," he quips at the end, silencing himself with a long draw of klah. "It's the same with me and Kash," agrees K'del, nodding. "Closest in age, and just-- close in general. Wish she could come here, but--" But for whatever reason, and from his expression, it's a big reason, that's just not going to happen. He continues to look rueful as he adds, "With two, if something happens to one, you're still okay. With one? Gets complicated. And we may not need /huge/ numbers of dragons in an interval, but it doesn't hurt to have new ones on a semi-regular basis." Still, and with a pleased and proud nod, he obviously agrees, "No longer a problem." Beat. "Well, like you said. As long as we end up with someone good. No convicts." That last? Totally unhappy. "I feel the same about Isobel and the Weyr," Trey states, again wistful. A big reason for Issy to not join him at the weyr, too; he understands. "Hypothetically," he launches into a new topic with the focused enthusiasm of an amateur historian, "What would happen if you /did/ - lose your only gold?" He looks about, as if someone's going to shoot him dead for even /asking/ the question, but-- "All hypothetically," he reinstates himself. Then... "Convicts?" Light-brown eyebrows raise in consternation. "Why would you have convicts... riding dragons?" He's obviously taken aback by the very notion. K'del looks instantly awkward, and lifts one hand to cover his mouth. "There I go again," is his remark, a little embarrassedly, a moment later. "Saying things I probably shouldn't. Just-- convict got searched. Haven't agreed to let them stand, but it's proving to be an... awkward situation, as you can imagine." Enough said on that; he looks like he regrets saying even that much in a big way. Of the other-- "Guess we'd have to take a queen from somewhere else. Probably Igen, since they've a couple of juniors, and sort of owe us one, anyway. " It's saying something when that is clearly the easier topic of conversation. "You're lucky Tiriana isn't around to hear you say that, though. Or me. Kill us both, probably." Intrigued, "How along in their sentence are they? Not-- lifers, right?" At're's looking for the right word, there, unsure if that's the correct term to use. "I'm assuming these are convicts related to all of that work I saw going on outside. I'd also assume any gaoler worth his grit wouldn't allow any sort of prisoner imprisoned for a heavy crime this close to freedom, regular society." The guard in At're, obviously warming to the topic. "We have a couple of- rougher characters, riding at Fort. They seem to have integrated... as well as could possibly be expected." Kai would kill him, if he knew. The bronzerider swirls the remainder of klah in his mug, muses. "Oh." Disappointed that it's such an easy answer, regarding golds, perhaps. "She keeps you on your toes, then?" Tiriana, presumably. "Our Cirse..." His head shakes. "I feel as if she could run the weyr without any assistance whatsoever, and that the rest of us just get in her way, half the time," cheerfully enough stated. "Entirely too well-put-together." "No, no," says K'del, hurriedly. Too hurriedly. "No, just petty criminals, and all towards the end of their sentences. Right. The ones working outside. They're-- not maybe /polished/, but most of them don't seem too bad. I'm just not sure... Well. We'll see." He gives the other bronzerider a thoughtful nod, turning his attention back to his glass for a low sip that keeps him occupied until. "You've obviously not had the pleasure of meeting our Weyrwoman. Should try it, sometime. She's-- an interesting woman in a completely different way to your Cirse." Beat. "Cadejoth chased in Peirith's first flight at Fort, back when we were still weyrlings. Met her again afterwards, and it was-- she intimidated me, I'm not ashamed to say. Tiriana is... different." "You could always have the sentence remanded into candidacy," At're states, with a bemused expression- devil's advocate, even past his initial reaction of omgwtfnoway. "Claim the weyr's Charter right to it." Because everyone abides by the law! Right? Right? "No, I've never had the pleasure of Tiriana's acquaintence," At're admits, easily enough, too ignorant to put a sarcastic spin on it. "Cirse is indeed- formidable." He'll leave it at that. "Different... how?" Curiosity kills the cat, again. K'del gives another uncertain bob of his head. "/Could/. The question is... do we want to? And that, I guess, is what we're still working out. Don't know how I feel about out-and-out criminals, charged and convicted and everything, riding for the 'Reaches." He breaks off from that to smile toothlessly, holding his lips tight over his teeth as he shakes his head. "Could say things about my Weyrwoman, but that'd hardly be diplomatic. Needs to be seen to be believed, anyway, I think. Leave it at... she's all fire, and Iovniath is all ice." At're contemplates this, for a minute. "I see your point," he affably comments to K'del. "Guess that's up to you." The senior weyrling stretches, listening to K'del's discussion of his weyrwoman with a half-smile. "I suppose I'll have to make a point to track her down, then, to experience it for myself." A quirked smile, and the lean rider moves to his feet, carefully doling out the correct markage for his drinks, and enough over for a decent tip; "It was a pleasure to meet you, K'del, but I fear my adopted wing likely thinks me shirking duties, as long as I've dawdled." "Guess it is," agrees K'del, idly, lifting his glass as kind of a toast, as the other bronzerider excuses himself. "I'm sure you'll find meeting her an-- experience." He'll leave it at that; it's probably wiser. "A pleasure on my part, too, anyway, At're. Perhaps I'll see you about at some point or another. Best of luck with the rest of your weyrlinghood, too." He tips his head forward, cheerfully, then goes in for another sip of his drink. "Fort's duties," At're doesn't go as far as to salute, of course, but offers a wave before he stoops down and lifts the crate of alcohol to cart out. "Good luck with your-- predicament!" he calls over a shoulder, grey eyes glinting with amusement before he's heading out the door. K'del returns the salute, albeit loosely and with none of the military precision that he'd likely put into it were the circumstances more formal. "High Reaches' to Fort, too," he calls after the other bronzerider. "And clear skies." This done, he turns back to his drink, staring moodily into the depths, as though they will, after all, give him an answer. |
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