Difference between revisions of "Logs:Ill-Gotten Gains"

K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug: there are almost always papers spread out across it, some of them important, others more inclined towards the fingerpaintings created by small fingers. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphenalia.

Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the antique skybroom desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy.

Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. An oversized wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels.

The first two sevens of spring have been largely damp and unpleasant, already leading some people to warn of a cold turn, a wet turn, terrible weather for all eternity. Inside K'del's weyr, there's still a fire burning on the hearth, which takes the edge of the chill but doesn't stop the young Weyrleader from wearing thick socks and a woollen sweater as he lazes on the couch, a glass of whisky in hand. He's reading, ostensibly, but he's also flipping pages in the casual manner of one who isn't really paying particular attention.

"I'm cold," is Val's announcement of her presence, the brownrider stalking daintily in from the ledge, her footprints increasingly less muddy as she goes along until she's right at the lip of the blue rug. Here, she kicks off her boots in a way that means she'll have to deal with the knots later, and teeters across it on her stockinged toes as though she were walking through surf. Fire, ho!

K'del's "Who's there? Oh, hello Val, nice to see you, do come in. Take your shoes off! Make yourself comfortable! Yes, there's whiskey on the sideboard if you would like some. Sit by the fire, do," is fondly sarcastic, and said without his gaze lifting from his pages. He doesn't even start speaking until Val's teetering onto the rug, though once he's finished, he does, finally, glance up to give her a crooked smile. "I'm cold, too. Let's share body heat." Also not serious.

"Whiskey. I like whiskey. Am I to take it," now the brownrider half-turns to gaze at him over her shoulder, the fur of her collar tickling at her throat, "that there's no one in your bed?" She doesn't take the whiskey itself, though, or at least not yet: clearly it's more important to balance on one foot before the fire like a particularly dark-feathered stork, the better to hold the other's sole just close enough not to singe.

With faux solemnity, K'del promises, "If there were someone in my bed, wouldn't be out here, in front of the fire, that's for sure. We would be making our own heat." It's not necessarily a direct answer to her question, but nor does he seem inclined to add further details. Except: "And you would probably be turning around to head back out that door, unless you were particularly inclined to interrupt us. How are you, Val? Aside from cold."

"I can't talk. I'm too cold." Now that he's provided such useful information, and now that she's completely contradicted her claim, off goes the stork up the steps towards his inner room, shedding her coat along the way: en route to steal some blankets. Or possibly take a bath.

At least the glance K'del aims after Val is an amused one, even if he doesn't have anything to say in response. A moment later, he swings off the couch, heading for the sideboard so that he can pour a whisky for the poor, frozen brownrider. As long as she doesn't drown in the meantime. Or fall asleep in his bed that may well be, after all, not too hard or too soft, but just right.

Its just-rightness goes untested, unless there's a bounce on the sleigh's mattress when nobody's looking, for soon enough Val pads on back with a lush cape of a comforter folded about her shoulders: a dragon's ransom of featherdown that trails well past her strong, slender ankles. She's also made plump by the two pillows she holds, one of which she has an eye to aim... if only he'll step away from the alcohol.

Conveniently for Val, one glance at that pillow-some burden, and K'del is stepping well away from the breakables, hands up in the air in a defensive stance that isn't likely to do him much good. "I yield! Would you really take down an unarmed man, Val? Really truly? With his own pillows?"

"I would, you know I would," and Val bares her teeth as she brandishes the pillow in question, surging up onto her toes as though that will more than match his height. The comforter slips. "Have at ye, foul beast-man! Ha ha!"

"Beast-man? I'm offended!" K'del half-crouches, arms still up, as though he were insignificant and tiny, entirely unable to protect himself from the ravages of pillow warfare. And women. Also: "You lost your cape. Maybe I should confiscate it, let you freeze. While I drink all the whisky."

"As if you would," Val says indulgently... right before she lets the cape fall altogether and leaps: slam dunk! Does the pillow bounce? Does his head? Hastily retrieving the comforter, dragging it back towards the couch with an eye for settling there, "If you're lucky, I'll share. Let's save the, 'I'm just a poor holder's daughter! Save me from starvation and rapine, you big strong Lord's son, you!' for later." Then she can give in to her laughter.

The pillow bounces, as all well-stuffed down pillows ought to-- but not before it hits K'del smack in the face, his arms not exactly defence against it. "Woe!" he says, melodramatic and amused. "Should've known you were interested in roleplay." Now that the pillow-threat has passed, he retrieves the whisky, heading back around to the couch in the obvious hopes of claiming at least part of it for himself - even if it means perching on the end, and offering the glass magnanimously.

"Boys would be much nicer if they weren't smelly," Val adds apropos of nothing in particular, surely, and accepts the glass just as gracefully, as though she were doing him the favor. A little adjusting lets her sit at the couch's opposite end, the fire's end, with her feet tucked up and her cheek tucked where its back slopes down to meet its arm. "I like that you play along. It was a good day. We played carrier for some Boll girls and their mothers, and they were as appreciative as you might expect."

"Ah, yes. If only we'd use the bathing facilities provided to us," agrees K'del, sagely, extending his legs out in front of him rather than taking up valuable couch space. "It's fun. Playing along. I like that my kids are old enough to play games with, now. We have slumber parties." His own glass is retrieved, nursed between his hands as he stares into its depths, in lieu of glancing at Val herself. "As they ought to be. You're not minding the additional work? With Boll, I mean."

"I can't believe you have kids that old," Val says, wrinkling her nose, and then goes and commits the travesty of blowing into the whiskey to see it ripple. "Mmm. Not so far, but we have seniority enough to be picky, even as a transfer. My boy isn't averse to displaying how strong he is, and sweeps are so boring. But tell me," and here she glances back across the stretch of empty cushions, smiling a little, "Whatever are you going to do with your ill-gotten gains? I could use some new clothes."

K'del gives Val a funny look at her blowing, but doesn't comment on it. Maybe he's just used to her weird habits. "I'm old, now, remember. Too old to Stand again." Like he needs to. His socked feet wiggle idly in front of him, and there aren't even any holes for his toes to go through. "You could, could you. And I could use-- it'll probably get saved for a while. There've been times when we've needed it. There probably will be again. 'specially the way things are going around here, these days. Being sensible is boring, though."

"You could break the rules for yourself," Val teases, sinking deeper within the comforter and taking little sips of the whiskey now and again as they talk. "I suppose saving it is a good idea, even if it is even more boring than sweeps. But... what about some improvement, something to show the riders that it's been worth it, with some saving on the side? Something that isn't gold-plated urinals."

Repeated, for emphasis: "Gold-plated urinals." K'del seems to find the prospect enticing, and wonders, thoughtfully, "I could do that for me. Just one. I deserve it, right?" More seriously, though, with a sidelong glance towards the brownrider. "Like what? Got any ideas. Was thinking we could do some kind of big celebration, but maybe that's not enough. Too short-lived."

"If that's what's most important to you," Val says sweetly. "Parties are fun," and she allows herself to relish the thought, "but we do that anyway. Maybe refurbish something good? Put a plaque up with all our names, saying 'courtesy of Val and Visigoth' and add on the other riders too, Turn 28. Pretty tiles, a fountain that wouldn't be at all like Fort's, more comfortable couches, paintings on the walls, who knows! What would you do if you really did spend it all on yourself? A urinal and a bathtub, if they wouldn't be too confusing in the dark?"

K'del, shaking his head, admits, "It'd be silly to gold-plate something that may not even be mine forever." As though that suggestion were serious in the first place. "Truthfully, I've most of what I need already. This gig pays okay. But I'd love to own something. A place that isn't here, maybe. Something tangible." Another shake of his head dismisses the idea, and instead, he's giving Val a thoughtful glance. "Snowasis is still in good condition. But-- ought to turn one of the really high up weyrs into another one. Fancier. Glass windows and whatever. Though that might be hard with the whole water thing."

"Land?" Val questions, intrigued. "A vineyard bigger than your father's?" though that also has a teasing note. "I don't know about fancier. One of the things I like about High Reaches is its... rough charm, you might say." The glass mostly drained, she sets it on the floor in favor of shuffling around with the comforter so it can be a hood for her laughing eyes. "Perhaps stone tables out by the waterfall, or a prettier area in the Bowl somewhere else, to enjoy when this place finally sees sun again. Oh, I know! Fancy crystals set into the Star Stones to stun everyone who visits! Only the smart ones would survive."

"I don't need to prove that I have a bigger cock than my father, thank you very much," says K'del, not quite restraining his laughter. "No. Just-- a place to escape to. To take the boys to, sometimes." But not Milani? His transition to the other is rapid: "Tables'd be good. Something garden-y, maybe?" It's a good thing he doesn't have a pillow to throw, else he might, in response to her last suggestion, though it, too, has him grinning.

The play surprises a laugh out of Val, and a, "K'del!" before she turns mock-reproachful: "It's 'plot' of land. They only sound similar." Her hilarity fades somewhat then, bright eyes resting on him for a moment for his choice of destination, of companions. Or perhaps it's only that tables don't deserve more. "Perhaps. Something that's pretty all Turn round, yeah? It could have flowers too, or grow tart berries so people can munch and walk at the same time. Or! Refurbish the hot springs on the outside slope, so they don't get so muddy past the rim. We've stopped going there until it dries out or we get snow again, whichever comes first." Although, it's probably not VIsigoth himself that minds the mud so much.

K'del's amusement plays merrily upon his expression, though he has nothing more to say on the subject of plots - or cocks. "The hot springs," he says, sounding both pleased and surprised with this prospect; it has him nodding fast, and with enthusiasm. "That's a good idea. It can get pretty boggy; seems like it's something people would appreciate. Something to make the extra work worthwhile." A moment later, he's adding, "Could add tables there, too. Facilities of some kind, anyway. It's a nice spot. When it's not boggy, anyway."

A touch of surprise may escape her, but Val doesn't seem displeased. She's nodding along, but fractionaly less and less until she says firmly, "But don't even think about digging a tunnel or whatever so just anyone can show up. It's for riders. And dragons." Not the little people, adorable as a couple of the healers may be. Though, "And their guests. And it should still look a little wild."

"I promise," reassures K'del. "No tunnels, nothing like that. Riders've got to have a place of their own." More nods, all firm. "Ought to see if anyone else has any ideas, I suppose. See what people think about the idea, of there's something they'd rather. Since we've all earned this, not just me, or Tiriana, or the weyr as a whole." His glass is now nearly empty, finally, but he continues to turn it within his hand, a gesture that probably has more to do with keeping his hands busy than aerating his drink or anything along those lines.

"Oh, I suppose," but Val pulls a delicate moue anyway to show her opinion about this asking business. Whatever happened to despotism? "I could ask a person or two, although you know they're liable to ask for a double share of drinks for a sevenday, yeah? Or commemorative dragonpoker decks," and surely she might add more, but instead she fades off in beatific contemplation.