Logs:Under Contract
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| RL Date: 13 September, 2015 |
| Who: Edric, Z'riah |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A deal for useful services is struck. |
| Where: Hot Springs & Edric's Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: X'vin/Mentions |
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| It's later in the morning, well after the morning work has been completed - and, yet, some time before the mid-day meal is to be served. There is plenty of work to be done, but the Weyr's consultant seems to be done with his duties for the time being. There's a scant handful of other people here, which makes it easy enough for Edric to claim one of the smaller pools for his own. One basket containing his neatly folded clothes is a safe distance from the water; a smaller basket, filled with meticulously organized items and a couple of wash cloths, is closer at hand. The man himself is seated so he can keep an eye on arrivals and departures, though it might appear for all the world as if he's dozing. His eyes are shut - or mostly so, it's hard to tell with his spectacles still in place - and he's sunk to his shoulders in the water. Z'riah is one such arrival, looking only somewhat recently awake and ruffled in a way that suggests he didn't bother pushing his hands through his hair when he got out of whoever's bed to make his way here. He's paying little attention to his surroundings when he strips down, shoves his clothes into a pile on a bench and turns to find a pool without bothering to grab a towel. He pauses when he recognizes Edric in a pool by himself, and his path shifts toward it with an oddly cautious confidence. "Morning," he offers as he comes closer. It works well to see if the man is awake, if nothing else. There's just the slightest tilt of Edric's head, enough to catch light on lenses and hide his eyes behind the glare. His expression is comfortably and naturally neutral. "Morning," is echoed with a politely thin-lipped smile. He gestures with a hand to a place vaguely opposite himself in the pool, with the subtle upward quirk of an eyebrow. "You never did tell me if you needed anything for your weyr or not," is mostly mused - if in deadpan fashion. "I will trust that it was cleaner than those that were reserved for the weyrlings." It's not going to take a second invitation for Z'riah to settle himself into the pool across from Edric. Like so many weyrbred dragonriders, he has no sense of polite modesty. "I guess I'm used to scrounging for myself," he offers, almost apologetically, quick to add, "It's nice, though. Just needed a quick sweep. Small, but the only other proper weyr I've lived in was oversized for a few people. Not sure I need anything... not unless you'd like to come by yourself sometime." It has to be tried. "Mm." With the greenrider's acceptance, the Steward shifts in the water to sit more upright. Edric hooks a hand back to deftly collect the small basket with its assortment of things - all specialty items, properly labeled, from soapsands to oils and the like - and offer it over without a word and with plenty of implications. "I see," he says after a moment and with a brief, but thoughtful, pursing of lips. "Of course. I can't recall that we properly took inventory of what was left in there," if anything was left, of course, "or if anything required repairs. I have a full schedule today, but-" his free hand gestures dismissively "-I can arrange a visit whenever would be convenient." The greenrider doesn't move immediately to take the basket, tentative enough of the implications to hesitate momentarily, but when he does, he shifts around somewhat closer to Edric, roughly halfway closer from where he'd been sitting opposite the Steward. Z'riah glances up from smelling a particular soapsand at the last and he doesn't even try not to grin. "I'm pretty sure any time you wanted to come to my weyr would be convenient for me." He'd make sure of it, presumably. He sets the basket to the side now that he's picked out a soapsand, but he balances that along the edge of the pool, too, so he can dip his head under the water to fully soak his wayward hair. The shift is noted, surely, but there is no comment made of it. If anything, one corner of Edric's mouth twitches with wry amusement. It's a fleeting thing and his mien settles into ambivalence again. "Excellent," is uttered, deadpan. "I did have a business proposal to make," he continues, though he waits until Z'riah's soaked his hair before he elaborates further. "One that would be a touch more lucrative than handling my ironing. That offer still stands, of course." Yet, there's the rise of a lone eyebrow - if no corresponding curve at the corner of his mouth. "But this one would require- ah. A certain measure of discretion." With his hair wet and pushed back out of his face, Z'riah reaches for the chosen soapsand to lather up a small handful. His attention is entirely Edric's, however. The greenrider watches the Steward, studying his expression in a way that's more nuanced than the man has really made himself seem. There's likely no doubt about where Z'riah's mind goes, what with the way he clears his throat and looks at the taller man before his gaze shifts away. "I can be discrete, sir," he assures before he's scrubbing the lather into his dark hair. "That is reassuring." Edric leans, just a little, to pluck out a small parcel of soapsand for himself, along with a cloth. "I have need of a personal rider," he elaborates blandly. "Though, I suspect I won't have much need of one before my contract here expires." There's a slight shake of his head, a vaguely scoffing noise, and then: "If you do not know where Black Cliff Hold is, you can get the coordinates from X'vin." His attention appears to be entirely on scrubbing his upper body, but the periodic, if sidelong, look to Z'riah is enough to give away that he is watching the other man. "I might only require your services once or twice a seven, but it may be more - or less - often depending on what I am required to do. Since L'land transferred out some time ago," and he makes no effort at masking his displeasure on that front, "I've been left a bit... wanting for transportation." Z'riah is making some attempt at not simply staring at Edric's scrubbing, but it's pretty obviously difficult for the greenrider to manage. Subtlety is really not one of his stronger skillsets. At least not in matters of attraction. He's listening, anyway. Edric certainly has a hold on his attention. He even glances up at the Steward's face. "Yes, sir. We'd be happy to take you wherever you need to go." Generic response it may be, Z'riah sounds sincerely interested. "Yizibeth... she's discrete, too. Doesn't remember things for long anyway. X'vin won't mind?" He's assuming that's the case, since Edric mentioned him. "Or will some of that discretion count for him, too?" And, to be fair, it's not as if Edric is the typical sort one would associate with a man who works with numbers all day; he's fairly athletic, tall, and confident. If he notices that attention, it goes without comment; nor does his scrubbing falter in the slightest, as if he might be self-conscious. His gaze will meet Z'riah's when the greenrider looks at him and a thin smile, just a hair wider than the one from before, is ofered. "You will be well-compensated for your service, Z'riah." There's that name and just a touch of weight with it. A shallow nod might be enough to cement the deal, but he pauses in his scrubbing to rinse his hand off and extend it to Z'riah. "I'll write up a contract tonight with the details. Ah. And, no. I don't think X'vin will mind at all," indeed, the idea is perplexing. "He and I have known each other for turns. If he does say anything about my use of your services, inform me. I will speak with him directly." The sound of his name distracts his focus just enough for his eyes to shift the small distance from Edric's eyes to his mouth, and then down to his hand. Z'riah rinses his own off in turn and reaches to accept the other, his hand closing with an oddly yielding firmness. "Yes, sir." Only he seems curious about, "What purpose will a contract serve? How can it be enforced if it's discretion that you're looking for?" The greenrider seems less contrary than genuinely interested, and quite confident that Edric knows perfectly well what he's doing. "There are records," Edric replies evenly, "and then there are my records." The handshake is firm and appropriately brief. He'll finish up the rest of his scrubbing while he explains, "Where I ask you to take me - when and for what purpose - is where the discretion will be important." An eyebrow raises. "It's impossible to keep some things secret in a place like this, especially when it comes to who is riding with whom. The contract is to keep us both honest. It will detail your rate of pay when working with me, the expectations I have, the terms of termination and any punishments for breaching the contract-" and, here, he'll level his unblinking gaze on Z'riah "-but I will trust that you will not disappoint me in that regard." His own scrubbing is distracted, but he works his way slowly through it, hair still slightly lathered but for now forgotten. Z'riah nods his head for most of what Edric says, it all seems reasonable, but it's the last of what he says that makes the greenrider go somewhat still, a handful of shallow breaths leading into a deeper one to clear out whatever thoughts are making his neck and ears flush the way they do. His voice wavers just noticeably when he says, "Disappointing you is the last thing I want to do, sir, I promise you." This time, Edric's smile is slow and creeping, curled just a touch more on one side in a smirk. The Steward leans in, a hand aimed to rest on one of Z'riah's shoulders - not for support, but to pull the greenrider just a touch closer. "Good," is practically purred in the other man's ear, his tone low - perhaps ominously so, "because I do not tolerate disappointment well." His breath is warm and sweet-smelling - like mint, perhaps. The proximity serves its purpose - he's able, with his other hand, to get something else out of the basket. He lingers in that position just long enough to add, "Finish washing up. We will have work to do." The touch of Edric's hand to his shoulder, the slight pull closer, they have Z'riah drawing in a breath that's trying very hard to be restrained, but not exactly succeeding. The greenrider swallows, hard, and nods his head in a quick, short motion. It's not until Edric withdraws again that Z'riah lets that shallowly held breath out again, slowly, blue eyes following the Steward. "Yes, sir. Right. Work." Right, that thing he does most days. He remembers that! He glances at Edric one last time before he puts the man's soapsand back in the basket and starts to shift toward the other side of the pool again. He can finish with the Weyr's soapsand. And he'll take a little more time with it than he necessarily needs because he might lack modesty, but there's at least one thing he doesn't want to draw any attention to at the moment. And the Steward needs but a quick rinse before he's done with his cursory scrubbing. He's long since been done with actual bathing, but who can blame him for enjoying a good bit of basking? Edric pulls himself out of the water when Z'riah moves away, his expression unreadable - and made worse for the reflections on his spectacles. Does he know? Does he suspect? Does it matter, really? "My quarters when you're done here." He'll trust the man can find out just where those are; it won't take much, after all. Then he's up and drying off with meticulous care - and, soon enough, getting dressed with that same measure of care. Appearances and all that. Z'riah watches Edric get out of the pool, and he doesn't try to hide it. It's that comment, though, that draws his eyes up. It's not going to help him be ready to get out of the pool any sooner, but it might make him care less about who sees him do it. He still lingers for a few minutes, making sure to scrub and rinse before he's getting out with much less care for appearances, and putting the clothes he arrived in back on haphazardly so he can go find Edric's quarters. With possibly all the wrong ideas in mind. Edric has a considerable head start - or, at least, enough of one to ensure that he's able to set up the table in the main part of the room with paper and pens. The door to his room is shut and, presumably, locked, leaving the space less small and slightly more on the "claustrophic" end of the spectrum. Of course, the door is shut. And, of course, Edric is sitting in the chair that faces the door, fingers steepled and resting just at his upper lip while he waits. Z'riah is not a shy man, so he won't leave Edric waiting terribly long for his arrival. His haste, granted, no doubt comes with all sorts of imagined scenarios, and not one of them is likely to match what he finds once he knocks on the Steward's door and turns the handle. There's a brief glance around the small room, noting the other door, and then his eyes are settling on Edric as the greenrider closes it behind him. "I hope your bed is bigger than this," he says, with a flash of a grin like he thinks he's amusing. "Enter," is called at the knock; not that there's much need. He watches as the greenrider assesses the space and raises an eyebrow slightly at the question. "It isn't." Flat, that. Edric lowers his hands, but just enough to indicate the chair opposite him with a tip of his chin. "But, to be fair," he'll add, "this is what the Weyr provided for the duration of my contract. My quarters at Black Cliff are more comfortable." To him, probably, but that goes without saying. "Sit. Please. Would you care for water? Tea? Wine?" He has those things, they're just tucked away in their spaces. Now. Is there anything you would like to discuss regarding the contract?" The pages before him are blank, save for a fairly standard heading to describe the generalities of the agreement. Dull, boiler plate stuff, really. The answer makes Z'riah glance at the other door again, but then he's moving to sit in the chair as directed, smoothing a hand over his wrinkled shirt. "Wine, please. Thanks." He looks from Edric to the mostly blank pages, skimming what's there before looking up at the other man again. "What sort of pay are we talking about here?" He'll start there, anyway, but there's the impression that it's not the only thing on his mind. And the other things aren't even all necessarily related to the Steward's various beds. "Excellent." With another nod, Edric rises from his seat to a cabinet tucked in next to the sofa and proceeds to pour a couple of glasses of wine. "I will be paying you a monthly salary," he begins with a sidelong glance to Z'riah, "and it will be sufficient to make up for the ten percent difference. If they follow my recommendations for six to eight months, they should be able to restore wages to their regular level - and you'll find yourself with a tidy increase." The first glass is offered to Z'riah; the other remains in his hand while he stands behind his own chair. "Is that agreeable?" There is no urgency to his tone, however; it would seem that the negotiations are something he might well enjoy. "You said the ironing alone would make up for the ten percent reduction. It seems like this should make up for more than that, at least, sir." Z'riah takes the glass that's offered to him, but he watches Edric rather than taking a drink just yet. "I can't imagine even exceptional creases are worth the same as discrete, on call, hot transportation." Not unless Edric is really that into ironing, anyway. But, hey, everyone has their thing. There's a faint quirk at the corner of Edric's mouth and he leans forward slightly. "You clearly underestimate my priorities." Is it a joke? Maybe? Hard to tell, considering the deadpan delivery and the fact that he moves right along to: "In either case, you would most likely be providing services twice a seven - sometimes more, often less." His wine, likewise, remains untouched while he studies Z'riah. "What do you think would be suitable compensation?" His voice drops just a touch, the tone edging into predatory territory - that his eyes are slightly narrowed may not help. There is no threat there, but there's certainly something lurking just beneath. Z'riah tries to maintain eye contact, but it doesn't last for long and he looks down at the pages instead, only glancing up at Edric when he says, "Ten percent for the ironing, on condition of your quality assurance. Twenty percent for the transportation and whatever other personal services you might desire of me." He's almost certainly suggesting things that generally involve nudity and sweating. Z'riah, stereotypical greenrider that he is, has no shame. Possibly also no good sense, considering Edric's demeanor. Ah, and there's the snort as Edric straightens. "No," is not uttered with flat finality. He puts his glass down on the table and folds his arms on the back of his chair, putting him in a position that's marginally more relaxed than his earlier looming. "The ironing is off the table," he continues. "It's either ten percent for ironing and ten percent for transportation, or twenty percent for transportation with discretion." The line of his mouth flattens, the corners contorting just a touch. The smile is small, but unpleasant - and blissfully short-lived. "Those are the only services I would be paying you for, Z'riah." There's a moment where Z'riah's jaw tightens, but then it relaxes and he nods his head once. "Fine. Twenty percent for discrete transportation. And no extras." He lifts his glass to take a drink, then, hiding some of his rejection in the motion. Then, looking at the pages, "If I somehow manage to breach our contract, how do you intend on punishing me? X'vin? Pay? I can't imagine you have enough pull to get me transferred elsewhere." He glances up at the end. It's not an insult, but he does seem to be both confident and thankful of the idea. The tightening of Z'riah's jaw elicits a barely perceptible lift of Edric's brows. He straightens again, with both hands resting on the back of his chair with a firm grip. The paper is disregarded for now; the weight of his bespectacled regard rests heavily on the greenrider. "If there is a need for additional services," comes out clipped and bitingly clear, "I will handle the compensation for that separately. There are, of course, some services that I see no need to pay for." Elaboration does not follow. "As for punishment," seems like an odd - if fitting - segue, "Pay is the obvious answer - and a given. Removing your compensation and charging for owed monies is all standard," and easily managed, given givens. He leans forward just a touch and his voice pitches low and terrible to match the set of his features. "Do not underestimate me - or my creativity - greenrider." Z'riah shifts in his seat, like he's not quite comfortable sitting up but also not quite comfortable being more at ease. And the fact that he's not comfortable with either might be bothering him more than he'd like to let on. The greenrider swallows under the weight of both eyes and words, but he manages to have enough in him to offer with a hint of challenge, "Are you gonna put your creativity into the contract, too, sir?" "No," is much lighter, relatively speaking. "Because I trust you will not breach the contract." And there's Edric's smile - polite and far from sunny, but it's a smile despite its short life. "If you ever want out of the contract, you're free to request as much at any time." He relinquishes his hold on the chair and steps around to, finally, take his seat and start drafting. His writing is crisp and clean for cursive, legible and efficient by nature. "Pay will be the only punishment noted," he confirms. In the end, it's a fairly short thing; little more than what was discussed, and that extra serving only to make things sound stuffy and formal. He slides the first over to Z'riah to review and sign, while he starts on the second. "Do you have any further questions?" is asked, though he doesn't look up from his writing to do so. That verbal door is opened just a touch wider with: "Related to this or otherwise?" "I won't," Z'riah confirms the fact that he has no intention of breaching the contract. Maybe it also means he won't want out of the contract, but that would be difficult for him to mean at this point in time. While Edric is writing, Z'riah finishes off the rest of his wine, watching the Steward's hands as though they're doing something interesting. He leans forward when one copy is presented to him to look over, but glances at the other man to consider just how wide that question is. "Do you ever enjoy the company of other men? Or am I wasting my time fantasizing about blowing you?" Is the verbal door open that wide? The pen stops abruptly. To Edric's credit, there is no splatter of ink; he lifts it just slightly before he stops, preserving the purity of the writing. The pen is placed, wordlessly, into one of the ink wells at the table and he rises, slowly, inexorably, from his seat. He motions for the greenrider to stay where he is, while he all but glides around to stand behind the other man, seated as he is. He must trust the greenrider isn't about to get up, because he turns, so to lower his hands and rest them directly on Z'riah's shoulders. The pressure is there, subtle as it is, and his presence is palpable in more than that direct contact. He bends his head, his breath no doubt aimed to be felt as he intones practically in the other man's ear, "'Enjoy' is such a subjective word, Z'riah. I make use of those that are useful to me." Deliberate. Cool. Measured. "Be useful - and you might not be wasting your time." He starts to move slightly when Edric first rises, but Z'riah stops with the motion for him to stay where he is. There's a tension under the hands that settle on his shoulders, but it's exactly the sort of tension one might expect from a man like him. "Yes, sir," he breathes out just this side of ragged, hands held slightly clenched until he realizes he's doing it and forces himself to relax. "I'll be useful." It's the predictable response, but Z'riah, for his part, seems to realize that it will take more time than this. "I don't have anymore questions, sir." There's a slight digging in of fingers - but not out of malice or warning. It's not precisely a massage, but it does seem to be a wordless suggestion to relax. "Excellent." That word is all but drizzled, slowly uttered as it is. "I am certain that you will be quite useful." It's only when Z'riah confirms that he has no more questions that Edric releases him and moves around to reclaim his seat. The last bit of writing takes mere seconds to complete and the second contract is handed over to be reviewed and signed - one copy for each of them, of course. "Edric," is added only after that's done and he's leaned forward, elbows on table and fingers steepled just below his chin. "In public and in mixed company, 'sir' is appropriate. But, here, my first name will be sufficient - unless I dictate otherwise." The sound he makes isn't exactly a complaint under the pressure of the Steward's fingers. Z'riah relaxes, submits, and soon he's watching Edric as he finishes writing out the other contract, leaning forward and breathing deeply to regain some measure of his chipped away composure. He reaches for a pen to sign both papers after a quick, probably not very thorough, skimming, his signature quick and messy in a way that almost certainly suits him. "Yes, sir-- Edric. Sorry. Habit." He swallows again, then ventures, "I should probably... I have duties. If we're done here." And Edric's signature, by contrast, is distinctive - but still unnervingly precise in its execution. "Of course. Go," is mildly dismissive, coupled with flex of fingers. "Although, if X'vin does give you trouble," it's a mild reiteration of what he'd said before, "let me know. Take care, Z'riah. We will be in touch." "I will," he assures without even thinking about it. A more paranoid person might wonder if Edric will tell X'vin if Z'riah says anything about him, but not this greenrider, evidently. "Thank you." He says it as he gets to his feet, taking the first page with him in his sudden hurry to be on the other side of the door. If anyone is listening, it's a few long moments before Z'riah's boots can be heard actually making their way down the hall and off to whatever duties or cold baths he needs to get on with. |
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