View source for Logs:Boom, Crom, Boom!

{{Log
|Involves=High Reaches Weyr, Telgar Weyr, Crom Hold
|type=Log
|who = Aughan, Gay, E'tyn, R'hin, Satiet
| where = Library, Crom Hold
| what = Aughan holds audience with the two pairs of Weyrleaders. It does not end well. This goes on during the Crom Trade Fair.
| when = 
| gamedate = 2007.11.10
|day=28
|month=2
|turn=14
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
| quote = 
| weather = 
| categories = Crom's Manipulations
| mentions = 
| icons = 
| log = Library, Crom Hold(#480RAIJLs)

The rich appointments of a Lord's private library are done up in the colors of Crom, deep gold and a rich navy making up the tapestries of wood-paneled walls. At one end of the cozy cavern is a crackling hearth, the well-tended fire rising high and radiating warmth throughout the room. The circular table in the center, with one well-appointed chair designated for the Lord Holder, is surrounded by six other seats, three of which are already claimed. Refreshments sit in the center, with the Lord tendering a glass of rich brandy, and clearing his throat intermittently.

Satiet sits to the right of the Lord Holder's chair, the slight frame stiff and and pale eyes void of emotion. Flatly blue, she flicks a glance around the table and then to the door the first signs of irritation marring her smooth forehead in thin lines.

Gay's not quite in her usually relaxed state, though it might be difficult to tell; she might have started off sitting up straight but she's now rather moodily slouched in her chair - directly to the left of the Lord Holder, and thus across the table from Satiet. Wrapping a curl around one finger and slowing draining her own brandy keeps her from having to trade looks with the other goldrider.

Sometime after the others have arrived, R'hin stalks into the library, a glass of wine in hand. He's exceedingly casual, breezily stating, "Got caught up with some of your -delightful- inhabitants, Lord Crom," the faint emphasis audible derision as he moves into the room. He heads for Satiet's side, one hand brushing along her shoulder, though his gaze is fixed on E'tyn, initially, then Gay in turn, pale eyes intent, cool, despite the faint smile that flickers. "Telgar."

Telgar's Weyrleader looks up, startled at the noise that precedes R'hin's arrival, the sound of a door opening or even the steps the other man takes to come and claim his seat. Dark eyes lift to meet R'hin's gaze in a brief glance, compelled to find his hands a half beat later when discomforted by the fixed look the Reaches' bronzerider offers. "R'hin," the shaggy blonde-haired man spares in a less formal greeting, attempting a smile that just fails. "I... I guess we should start now."

The thin lines that mar Satiet's forehead disappear when R'hin arrives, and then flicker back into existence as what he states sinks in. The sharp chin lifts, proud, and while her Weyrleader brushes her shoulder, all the gesture does is to further stiffen her already straight spine. "Yes," a voice as cool as how icy her eyes are turns onto E'tyn and his hesitant start, "It's good to see you." The last causes her to turn to Gay, a thin smile shaping, presumably the first words the Reachian goldrider has deigned to cast Telgar's way.

Gay gives R'hin a look back that's both challenging and questioning - got something to say? Huh? That fades quickly enough as she manages a smirk for the Reaches' Weyrleader, pulling herself back up to sit straight and tall next to E'tyn. With a flicker of a look for her own weyrleader, she puts in dryly, "Now that we're all /here/." Spinning her glass on the table, she spares a glance for Satiet as the woman speaks. "Been seein' me for the past little while. But likewise." Her dark eyes are fixed on the goldrider; her own smile thin - and somehow conveying 'typical'.

E'tyn takes strength from Gay's attitude, unable to quell the fleeting grin at her courage. He takes solace in pleasantries, a glance for R'hin's wine, and then another for the brandy that his goldrider and Crom's Lord indulges in. "Though we've all met," he begins, keeping his gaze studiously off of Satiet and R'hin, "E'tyn." The introduction is followed by a scrape of his chair against the floor as he rises to reach forward and pour himself some brandy.

"Good of you all to wait for me," R'hin says with a quick smile to Gay, as he settles into the seat next to Satiet. The fingers of his right hand remain curled around his wine glass, taking in the stiff posture of his Weyrwoman with equanimity. E'tyn's introduction earns a rise of brows. Instead of following suit, he turns attention to Lord Crom. "Let's settle this--" he borrows the term being bandied about by the harpers with a twist of lips, "--misunderstanding, shall we? Crom is under High Reaches' protection." He spreads his hands, as if that should be all there is to it.

A sharp retort shapes Satiet's face contentiously but never sees the light of day, for when her mouth parts and the irritation rises, the recollection that who she is about to berate and in front of whom sinks in. Instead, the Reaches goldrider struggles to smooth down her features and level her voice in her following comment: "There shouldn't have been a misunderstanding."

"Ah," Crom's Lord interjects with a pleasant smile on his aging face, "But that's where you and I disagree." He uses the plural 'you', facing the Reachian Weyrleaders with a feline-in-cream's smug pleasure. The low glass of brandy tips forward to designate them and then shifts to lightly point out Telgar. "Where you cannot protect my lands, they can and I look out for the best interests of my hold." Smooth spoken, the graying man casts a look to R'hin, begging for him to deny the situation laid out.

Gay is a little bemused by E'tyn's introduction, but only shows it in an arch of her brows and a twist of her lips. Leaning forward over the table, she takes up her glass again, glancing up at the Lord - then to Satiet and R'hin both in turn. "First," she says, remarkably casual for the tension, "We want to make sure that High Reaches receives at least some of what they were expecting. Sorta an apology, I guess?" Her dark eyes shift to Satiet at that - though at the Lord's proclamation, she purses her lips. "We were called. And I dunno if it's for you to decide on your coverage, Lord Crom."

Finding something in R'hin's tone or change of direction that sits ill with him, E'tyn's craggy face lifts, a lip quirked look sent the Reachian bronzerider's way. He doesn't repeat what his Weyrwoman states, and fails to look all too menacing, but a light rises in the bronzerider's eyes, keenly sharp and scrutinizing and the mellow bovine features melt with the exchange between Lord Crom and Weyrleader Reaches. The hand that holds the brandy tightens fractionally. "It can't be easy," he finally remarks diplomatically, "To be expecting something and meeting unexpected shortages. We'd like to make amends."

The Lord Holder's latter words are clearly aimed to spark R'hin's ire, and they hit their mark, indeed; the Weyrleader's voice holds a low growl to it as he responds sharply, "High Reaches has never failed to come when you called, Crom. Even," pointedly, a glance is sent in E'tyn's direction, "When you -didn't- call us." An exhale of breath as he leans forward, "Even Telgar can't cover the territory you expect us to look after. Pass or not, Thread falls, and you insist on behaving like it's an Interval. People will die. Yours -and- ours." He straightens at E'tyn's offering, a narrowing of eyes in response. "We don't want Telgar's charity. We want what's ours, by right of duty."

Again, Satiet has a ready response that dies once her mouth opens, a sharp breath taken in in lieu when Telgar's offer is rejected. A slim hand reaches across, the lone person at the table without a drink, and sinks down on R'hin's, visible pressure applied and a pale glance spared for the bronzerider; a glance imbued with layers of meaning foremost of which is less 'play nice' and more 'shut up'. "It isn't Telgar's charity to give."

Perhaps he meant to incite that kind of rage from R'hin, or like minds just recognize like all too easily, but Lord Crom rises just as smoothly as he speaks and favors a nod to both sides of the table. "I've concluded my part in this farce by allowing you the chance to meet on my grounds with the trade fair as an excuse." The man's weathered face pulls into the driest smirk, crookedly curved with subtle malevolence manifesting in his watery eyes. "What shall be will be, but I shall leave you to discuss the terms amongst yourselves." Without another word, or a backwards glance, the proud man stalks the exit, the long arm of a guard visible when the door shuts again.

"Big difference between charity and apology, R'hin. But if you're gonna be like that -" Gay shrugs a little, seeming less inclined to be diplomatic than her Weyrleader. Sharp eyes miss the glance from Satiet to R'hin, but she doesn't at all miss Lord Crom's rather dramatic exit, nor the arm of the guard that pulls the door closed. With wide brown eyes, "Now we're f-" Pause. "Now we're /locked/ in here? This is -" With a look for the door that might vaporize it if she could manage the feat, she grips her glass tightly. "Look. You were expecting the damn tithe and we brought some of it - that's all there is to it. Now that we've been left to sort this out could we try to manage it quickly, at least? You want the Hold back, but you don't want to cover all the land. That's a /difficulty/, so how d'you suggest solving it?

In an unintended mirror of Satiet, E'tyn reaches out for Gay, his hand falling on her shoulder, the fingers moving in a light caress intended to calm. "I don't think we're locked in," he reasons aloud in low tones to Gay, soothing, "But I can't imagine Lord Crom doesn't have vested interest in knowing what happens in here." In a gesture unlike him, the bronzerider downs the rest of his glass in one swallow, his eyes scrunching as the burn down his throat disappears. "We're trying to be reasonable." He can't quite meet R'hin's eyes, but something in Satiet's demeanor gives the man hope enough to face the cold woman.

Although his demeanor doesn't visibly alter, R'hin glances at Satiet, taking in that silent warning with glowering, dark look of his own. The timing of it prevents R'hin from responding to their host before he vanishes, a fact that seems to cause him no small amount of ire. It takes him a moment, and he withdraws his hand from underneath Satiet's, taking a long sip of his wine. His voice is remarkably even when he says, "No, Gay, I don't want more deaths on my hand for the sake of his profit." Even though he uses her name, his speech holds an air of formality and coolness that negates the use of her name. "It's simple to solve-- Crom's is ours to cover, and our problem to negotiate with the Lord. This should not involve Telgar."

Satiet doesn't disagree, either in voice or expression with what R'hin states, her fingers falling to the table with a light drum when High Reaches' Weyrleader withdraws from hers. In conjunction with what R'hin states, she adds a distant, "This should be a Hold-Weyr matter. There is one too many in this bed, and you should depart graciously." The emphasis the raven-haired woman casts on the last word is punctuated by a flat, commanding look to Gay. She doesn't deal with pansies. "Crom has been part of our coverage area for-," a beat is lost, "Centuries."

Gay is a little less easily calmed, giving E'tyn a /look/ for even attempting it. Gaze slipping to the hand on her shoulder, she turns back to look first at Satiet - curiously - then to R'hin. "Reasonable," she echoes when the brighter colour of her cheeks have faded. "Maybe it shouldn't have involved us, but it has. And the matter of the tithe? Sure, that's Hold-Weyr. The matter of coverage? Not so much." For Satiet's commanding look, she's got a lift of her chin for the slight woman. Bring it. "Centuries," she says, maybe a little smug. "But not always. Not forever. If it were, this wouldn't be an issue, yeah?"

E'tyn reaches for the bottle again, pouring again, and downing again. Liquid courage does very little to fire up his emotions, though the sharpness of his eyes seems to magnify for each ounce of liquor swallowed. An observer by nature, he doesn't miss Gay's look for his attempts, nor does he miss the lack of change in R'hin's demeanor to his weyrwoman's reproachment, and sits to the side physically, though verbally he repeats in slow emphasis, "Not forever. The records have shown that Crom had reason to call for Telgar. And who's to say we're incapable of caring for Crom's lands as it is without abandonment? You?"

"It wouldn't be an issue if you stayed out of business that didn't concern you," R'hin's voice is taut, not quite raised, but hovering somewhere on the edge of it. His sharp gaze settles on E'tyn, pale eyes intent, as if appealing directly to the Telgarian Weyrleader. "You made a mistake. You answered Crom's call-- easy to do. Thread falls unpredictably, and we're all on edge. We all make mistakes. It's easy for you to fix it." His hands spread, brows raised. The conciliatory tone, brief as it is, vanishes under a sudden hardening coolness at E'tyn's words: "Yes. "

Satiet's flat look demanding acquiescence turns impassive at Gay's return, her voice equally distant and while R'hin rises to the challenge, she turns cold throughout her Weyrleader's speech. Still devoid of drink, the slender woman rises and makes a path towards the hearth, hands clasped behind her back. "We'll take your apology because it's due us. You can have the coal," she presumes flatly, "Delivered to our lower caverns." Executive decision, but charity or no, semantics or not, the slight woman has trouble turning to face Telgar's Weyrleaders or her own Weyrleader when deciding this.

Finishing her own glass and spinning it to the polished table with a heavy thunk, Gay's next look for E'tyn is a bit more surprised, unable to hide it from either him or the Reachian Weyrleaders. Looking back across the table, setting her jaw, "There's no time to think. Mistakes were made." There's a moment when she's thoughtful, considering - but then she looks from E'tyn to R'hin in disbelief. Flatly, with an intensely angry light in her eyes, "Fuck you, R'hin." A pause. "And you know what? You too, Satiet. Take it from here or leave it to rot. You just want us to kiss your ass, and that ain't about to happen." To E'tyn, as she stands to her full height, "Screw this. We're done."

E'tyn nurses his empty glass and though his insights are unleashed by liquor, it doesn't mean he doesn't move or speak after pondering thought. So it takes him a little while to recognize that Gay's unleashed her fury on the Reachian pair and then a few second after that to realize it's his turn to react. To not stand by Gay would mean his world might end, and slowly, the bronzerider rises and places his glass more gently on the table. "Aye, we are," he agrees, though not without the regret lacking in Gay's voice reflecting in his. "There's a guarded tent on the outskirts of the fair. You can have your riders transport it from there," he spares, but is then slipping an arm about his weyrmate to guide her out.

The door, surprisingly, is not locked, but once opened, the guard has difficulty masking his curiosity into a more guard-friendly neutral expression.

The startled look R'hin gives Satiet clearly telegraphs his surprise at her words, and his unhappiness, too, brief scowl visible. His shoulders set at Gay's words, tones cool, polite in contrast to her: "Then the deaths of your riders will be on your head, Weyrwoman." He does not bid the pair farewell, gaze shifting back to his Weyrwoman.

Satiet doesn't turn at Gay's big send off, though her shoulders turn tense and her breathing far too audible to not be emotional; which in Satiet's case must be checked anger. She does not favor the Telgar riders with parting words, much as she did not favor them with greetings and introductions, and it's not until the door closes and they've presumably left that one final audible breath exhales, and the tightened shoulders drop, pride defeated.


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