Difference between revisions of "Logs:Desperate Times, Desperate Measures"

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.

There was another wingleader meeting, this morning - another disaster of one, really, if a person is being honest. K'del got shouted down by B'ren, Sisha scowled a lot, and no one went home happy. But that was hours ago: now, K'del is sitting alone in one of the booths, drawing his (and Cadejoth's) initials into the condensation with the kind of concentration one would expect of something, well, difficult. It's a little before dinner, and the Snowasis is crowded, though less raucous than it might be if the supplies situation were different.

There really hasn't been a wingleader meeting that hasn't been something of a disaster. Sabella was at this one with the others, but she was quiet and out of the way during the shouting. It's not as if they're interested in the weyrlings now anyway. While tonight is crowded but not too crowded, there is some competition for seats. Which could be why K'del finds himself beset by a group of girls, the greenrider being just a beat faster than the rest. She slips into the spot across from him. The others, maybe intimidated by the former Weyrleader or just aiming for a better spot to stake out reluctantly back away. "Hello? I'm not interrupting something all consuming I hope. Can I sit here?" She's already sitting.

K'del's bemusement for the sudden onslaught of girls is accompanied by the wiping out of the artwork on his glass with the back of his hand. He turns his attention from the retreating group and onto Sabella-the-successful, his brows inching up ever so slightly. "Surely you know a man in the midst of art-creation when you see one," he answers, obviously not serious, though he's also not especially smiling. "But since you're here already... Sabella. Cirrus Wingleader."

"Oh, was that what it was?" Sabella returns with an air of seriousness. She cants her head and tries to get a teasing glimpse at the side of his glass. But it's been wiped clean already and it's not as if she was expecting anything, truly. Instead she delivers an infectious sort of smile as she pulls her own drink closer. "You remembered my name, I'm surprised. The wingleader meetings have been chaotic."

"Make an effort to remember these things when I can," answers K'del, with a shrug and - finally! - a smile, as he turns his glass, and draws it up to his mouth so that he can take a sip. "Though," he adds, after swallowing, "you're not wrong on the chaos. Imagine you didn't expect Wingleaders would act so much like children."

Sabella has an easy shrug for that commentary. "They're men and women just like any others. It wasn't entirely surprising." Her smile twists into something that's a little quirkier, more amused. "People everywhere are largely the same. Scrambling to get to the top, ignoring the other opportunities along the way. Becoming blinded by some ideal they're striving to achieve, some truth they want uncovered for reasons they don't understand. At the cost of consequences they can't comprehend yet."

As answers go, K'del seems to find that one insightful, perhaps enough so that his expression is approving, maybe even quietly impressed. As she continues, however, something hardens about the corners of his mouth, something that he's quick to try and cover up with another lift of his glass. "That's true," he says, finally. "Blind to anything but the narrow perspective of supposed truth they've decided on."

She's soft still, at least for all intents and purposes on the outside. The greenrider takes a polite sip from her glass, curling her fingers around the outside and pulling it in closely towards herself. Sabs tips her head in agreement on his last, "Exactly. People like that can be very destructive. Especially if they were to start encouraging others to engage in similiar activities."

"Because..." K'del hesitates, worrying at his lip with his front teeth. "They're not necessarily seeing the bigger picture. And instead of helping things..." He's tentative, working around the edges of the issue rather than diving in to what he presumably must suspect is really the topic of conversation. "One hopes that other people might be able to see more, because they're not in the middle of it when it begins. Even if they can't talk sense to a person." He's watching her, very carefully.

While he's tentative, she's patient. Not exhibiting any signs of wanting to rush along, she's simply comfortable and enjoying her drink while he explores the edges. "Well, I find that a person's idea of 'helping' to be subject to their own personal agenda." Sabs inches a hand up and runs her finger along the rim of the cup. "So talking sense isn't always feasible. Sometimes if they're wandering down the wrong path, they just need a little push in the right direction."

K'del's nod is minute - careful. "And we all have our own agendas; our own idea of what 'helping' is, and isn't. None of us really see the whole picture... not of everything, anyway. Just bits." Enough bits, his expression says, though he's still being careful. "What kind of pushes are useful, do you think?" he wonders, lifting his glass again, though this time he doesn't drink from it: he might need to take his gaze off of her, to do that, and right now he doesn't seem to want to do that.

"The whole picture isn't always helpful to everyone, they don't all need to know every detail. Some things are meant to be kept quiet." Sabs shrugs her shoulders, she can understand that it seems. But more importantly, "Oh, simple misdirection. If a person were to want to see something for instance. But another person were to get to it first and replace that information with something more benign? That might be enough. At least to buy some time and distance from an issue."

K'del opens his mouth, his gaze narrowing just slightly... but not in an overtly negative kind of way, though there's quiet suspicion there without question. "Speak plainly," he instructs, a moment later. "You're talking about K'zin. Is it... records you're talking about? The records?" And then, "Why? More than the obvious."

"Yes, he wants those records. He believes they exist and he's going to look for them and find them if they do. Because he's a dog with some sort of bone. He wants the truth of it out there." Sabella leans forward despite the quiet air of suspicion and leans her elbows onto the table. "I'm more pragmatic than that. I don't care about what you have to hide; it's none of my concern. But I can get to them first, put in an altered copy and leave without anyone knowing. It can say whatever you want it to. Then you can have the real ones to keep or destroy." Of course there's a price, always some sort of price. While she doesn't say it explicitly, it's inferred.

"How will you get to them?" Will. Not would. "They're in the restricted area; behind locked doors." K'del is back to worrying his lip in between words, but he hasn't run away from it: his brows are furrowed, his expression uncertain, but he's facing it head-on. He nods, just once.

Sabs props one of her hands under her chin, leaning into it. "Locks can be opened and not everything is as carefully contained as we'd like to think it is. There's always an opening, I can find it or create one temporarily." As if she might suspect that sounds ominous, "That's not my go-to move, of course."

"No, of course not." The K'del of once-upon-a-time may have been horrified; this K'del, today's K'del, just looks tired, and resigned. "The reports can stay, mostly. Most of what's in there. There was an investigation, and most of it is fine, not problematic at all. But there's an added report, from me, added to the back of it. That needs to come out of it." His tone is brittle, as he relates this information. "What will it cost me?"

"That's simple then. I can just remove it, it doesn't even really need to be replaced. Unless someone would notice it wasn't there?" Sabella prompts, because she needs to know that if she's going to do the job correctly after all. As for the topic of a price, she names something that sounds reasonable for what she's suggesting. If he were familiar with that kind of thing. "For you, I'll delay any collection until I've actually done what I'm supposed to do."

K'del shakes his head: no one will miss it. "There's no one left," he says. "Who would know it was supposed to be there, not unless you interview the Harper and... he wouldn't talk." It sounds like he's trying to convince himself of that, though he sounds surer when he adds, "Harpers don't talk about their investigations." It's clear he's not familiar with the cost structures for such things, but he nods, accepting her price without question. "And if you get caught, you know nothing about me. I'll deny all knowledge."

She doesn't know a thing about Harpers and whether or not they'd talk, instead she smiles easily (and perhaps comfortingly) for the convincing he's trying to work on himself. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of dropping your name." Sabs doesn't seem surprised by that take of his, instead taking a moment to enjoy another sip of her drink. "Deal."

K'del's breath escapes; a low sigh, accompanied by closed eyes. As they open again, he nods. "Deal," he echoes. "Do we... swear in blood or something? You'll realise, I'm sure, that this is not my usual... sphere of operation." Desperate times, etc. "You're not going to sell me out, are you? Though, I imagine you wouldn't tell me, even if you were."

"Yes, I keep a knife in my back pocket for just these sorts of occasions." Sabella informs him seriously, before allowing a hint of that infectious smile to return. "I know that it's not. Don't worry, I'm not thinking badly of you." For stooping to her level? Or for not being comfortable with it? Hard to distinguish. "If I was just into the information to sell you out, I'd skip you entirely in the process. But you're my customer now, there's a certain loyalty there."

"Honour amongst thieves," K'del supposes, twisting his mouth into a smile that isn't especially happy, though he acknowledges it with a forward tilt of his head. "All right, then. Guess I've no choice but to trust you... and I do, I think. For better or for worse. Can you... tell me, if he thinks to try and go talk to Devaki? I'll pay you for that, too."

"I can." Sabella takes a breath, her glance directed at the ceiling briefly. "I don't know if he's thought of it yet. He means to go to the Harper Hall, to see their records. To the Healer Hall as well. He wanted to me talk to a woman named Akadri. But I haven't done that." Instead she came and found K'del. Her expression is gently thoughtful, "I could always say that I spoke with her."

None of this seems to surprise K'del, who nods. "He's... thorough, in his way. Perhaps he'll be smart enough to realise that talking to Devaki is a bad idea, given present relations." His words are thoughtful, and, despite himself, there's something in his tone that suggests continued affection, however troubled, for the weyrling in question. "Akadri. Talk to her if you want to. Or don't. She's full of conspiracy theories, all of which are difficult to believe: nothing she says will make a difference, I reckon. No doubt you can tell the difference."

"He's not a bad kind of guy. Just once he's decided something, that's about all there is to it." Sabella shrugs just then, a quick roll of her eyes. Believe her, she knows all about it. Don't worry. "Something to keep in mind then. Maybe I will or won't." The tin-foil hat woman seems to have fallen by the wayside for now and she nods once, a quick smile for his last. "Likely or else I wouldn't be very good."

"Agreed," says K'del. "He means well." He gives Sabella a short nod, biting some dry skin off his lip, then concludes, "And it'd be bad luck for me if you weren't any good. No - that sounds good. So." He pauses, reaching for his glass again. "Now's the point at which I tell you all about flying with Taiga, and how we should convince you to fly with us, afterwards. Since, obviously, we've been talking about something like that for all this time."

She hmms in agreement on his assessment of K'zin, nodding just a little. Close to making some sort of witty quip on the next bit about being 'any good', Sabs laughs instead. She goes along with it easily, hardly missing a beat. "Alright, then you tell me all about Taiga. Why I would want to fly with the lot of you, though honestly it's not as if it would take a lot of convincing. Considering the other options lately." She lifts her glass and gives the Snowasis at large a tight wave as if it were the stand-in for this morning's Wingleader meeting. And just to make this all seem actually authentic she'll stick around for some time and listen to his pitch.

And he'll make it a good one... though he doesn't seem to be expecting anything as a result of it. "Give it some thought," he suggests, at the end of it. And, "No doubt I'll see you around, Sabella. Good luck." With the rest of weyrlinghood, obviously.

"Oh, certainly." Sabella enthuses with a certain girlish element to her voice. "Thank you, sir." She flashes that smile at him, dimples and everything when she eventually makes her escape from his booth. Her drink has barely been touched and it's not really done when she leaves it at the bar and slips out through the door.