Difference between revisions of "Logs:60-40"

K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#1716RL)

Rank certainly has its privileges; among them are amply appointed apartments. Two chambers connect to form a large weyr, the outer cavern larger and better decorated. Here are impersonal furnishings: a seating arrangement of sofa and chairs in front of a large, tiled fireplace with a blue-and-black rug before it; an antique-looking desk, dinged and dented in a few places but polished and well-kept for its obvious age; a tall cupboard with tack-hooks beside it, gear for dragonriding neatly arranged inside. Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendor for High Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl, and the other a hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside.

The inner weyr, a sleeping cavern and a bathing area, is smaller and cozier and less ostentatious. A double-sized wooden bed in good condition, made up with sheets, pillows and comforter in varying shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze fills much of the area, as well as a nightstand covered in books, a wardrobe. A folding screen mostly shields the bathtub and toilet, with a towel usually slung over it, and a small collection of toiletries in easy reach.

There are signs of life within both parts of the weyr: an oil lamp on the desk, alongside papers and books and pens, often untidily stacked; a jacket on the back of the desk chair, the occasional empty mug or bottle of beer.

It's not that much longer after lunch before there's the clatter of heels on the steps up from the bowl of girlish heels. Rather than go to the Weyrwoman's weyr, as such obviously female steps may be prone to during the day (who knows about nights!), they make a very decided path towards the Weyrleader's weyr and then halt in the entrance. There, Yuliye stands, with one hand braced against the doorway, her brightly inquisitive eyes quick to dance from this object to that in K'del's newly appointed quarters. Is he in? Nonetheless, as greeting and by way of testing the occupancy of such grand quarters, she calls out, "Nice tapestries." How something so nice and sweetly spoken could sound so lascivious...

K'del is, in fact, in, though he might not be immediately visible, except, perhaps for an arm draped over the back of the couch, a foot dangling over the edge. The clatter of heels doesn't seem to have disturbed him from his languorous pose on the couch, but the voice? That certainly does. The hand disappears, and then the foot, and then there's K'del, kneeling on the couch to look over and seek out the voice's owner. "Came with the weyr," he tells her, after the silence that accompanies his consideration of her. "Can I help you--?" It's hard to know if he recognises her, from the narrowing gaze he focuses upon her, and the dubiousness of his tone, or if there have been just that many attractive young women wandering in, talking like that.

"They hang so well," chirps Yuliye. The slightest shift of her feet bring her in a slight lean against the doorway, hazel eyes trained to where K'del is now on his knees on that couch. He'd have to be because sitting shouldn't make his height so tall, standing should, hopefully, make it taller. /Kneeling/. And suddenly, the Crom woman can't help the smile that dances lights in her pretty eyes. "Yuliye," she fills in the blank sweetly, accompanying the name with a wink. Perhaps he remembers, so the wink means something more, though even if he doesn't, the wink could still mean anything in the world of flirty young women. "I've been told to bring my uncle's congratulations to you and Crom's hand in," marriage? sexual escapades? "Friendship." No such luck.

K'del's gaze shifts from Yuliye to the tapestries, as if there might be something about them that he has completely failed to notice, but, no: they really are just tapestries. He returns her smile with something more dubious, though that might equally be for the wink. "Yuliye," he repeats. And then, a very peculiar expression that hastily alters into something that must be intended as professional, at the mention of Crom - and (alas?) friendship. Now, hastily, he draws himself up from the couch, to his feet (much taller, now), and towards her. "Crom. Of course." He clears his throat, then extends his hand. "Would you--" Beat. "Pass my thanks on, to your uncle? Thank you." This is distinctly less interesting than sexual escapades would be.

Yuliye, in all her Yuliye-ness, bypasses the offered hand and instead steps into it, much as if it might be an embrace. She's so good at just intruding on people's personal bubbles and looks up in big-eyed innocence as she does so; that there is, fundamentally, nothing wrong with being a nose away from tipping her forehead into K'del's chest. Ok, maybe not that close, but close enough. Only then does her hand reach for his, however backwards that motion may twist her torso--it's such a soft never-seen-a-hard-day's-work hand--and flash an oh so dazzling smile up. "It must be difficult," she notes aloud into his chin, "To be a leader so young and in such a way! Tiriana explained to me just how flights work and how there isn't always ... choice. But she did assure me she and Iovniath had a plan so their choice would win." Either she's stupid or good at oblivious.

Perplexed, K'del keeps his hand partially outstretched, and the other by his side - at least he doesn't turn it into an /actual/ embrace. That would be weird. Weird-er, maybe. He watches her: there's consideration, and confusion, in his gaze, his lips pulled together close, though he does (without intending to, surely) breathe in visibly. Girl smell. His hand is far from soft, but his grip is firm, even outright confident. He tilts his head, trying not to talk directly into her face or head, and begins, "Er--" Then, a pause, as though he's clicking things through in her head. "Well. As a bronzerider, one must be prepared for this kind of - opportunity. Thank you. I'm sure I can speak for both Tiriana and myself, when I say that I hope relations remain cordial between your uncle and the High Reaches."

"K'del," she says his name, not his title, nor sir or anything that would be even sillier between a twenty-something young woman and a teenage Weyrleader. The lingering hand loosens it's grip so she might pat his chest twice and lean in so he might get more than a whiff of her very girl smell of some fragrance that's all vanillay. Quippy; "Relax." Her little shoulders do this little shrug that sinks the fabric of her gown about her chest eye-catchingly and then she's taking that step back out of his personal bubble, looking past him into the rest of the weyr. Those hazel eyes move swiftly over the tapestries to the fire place and finally to the recently vacated couch. "Seriously, you don't have to put on a show for me. I eat lunch with Tiriana every week and we drink in her weyr and we talk about boys." Not /entirely/ true. "We talk about you~." Also not entirely true, but true enough. "Are you going to invite me in? Or do you require girls to flash you more cleavage before you'll let them sit on your couch?"

K'del lets his hand drop, uneasily, to his side, and then there's no doubt that he's aware of - and enjoying - the scent of her, given his expression, his eyes half closing. Then, they flicker open again, and his expression returns to something more dignified. Or... an attempt along those lines, anyway. It must take some effort, but he keeps his attention trained on her face, and only flushes slightly pink at the rest of what she has to say. "No doubt she speaks very highly of me," he says; a joke? Must be. Or else he's still fabricating - even he must be aware of past interactions with Crom. Then, "Of course, please do come in, Yuliye. May I offer you something to drink? I've - whiskey. Or water." He indicates the couch, which is covered in pillows, and has, on the floor beside it, the remains of what must K'del's lunch, on a tray.

There's laughter for his pinkening, and the intent way his attention is on her face and not slipped to look down into her cleavage. "Oh, you're a dear," is what she says in between laughing. "Thank you, your hospitality is... generous," is what she says as she drifts beneath K'del's nose to sidestep the tray with lunch and to perch herself daintily on the be-pillowed couch. "Though there are so many questions I have that I'm curious about, I do actually have more purpose here than to tease you." Then continues to tease him with a quick-smiled, "Though, that's a pleasure in and of itself. Would you sit? It won't take terribly long and if you're sitting, it's less likely you'll want to throw something at my head and give me more time if you try and choke me."

'Dear' may not be what K'del is aiming for here, though exactly what he'd prefer could go two different ways, between his position, and her flirtations. As she moves to sit, he heads for the whiskey bottle, and a (thankfully clean) pair of glasses, which he sets upon the table without actually filling. "You mistake me for my Weyrwoman, if you think I'm prone to such - violence," he remarks, though he does take the suggested seat in one of the chairs, folding his hands atop his knees as, brows raised, he considers her. "Please. Continue."

Something of her demeanor shifts with the selection of chair he makes and the way he considers her right up until he speaks. The slender back, all straight in its dainty perching relaxes, much as she told him to, into those cushions, against the armrest of the couch and, instead of crossed at the ankles to make any etiquette instructor proud, a leg lifts to cross at the knee. "You were kind to say that relations would remain cordial between Crom and the Reaches. We both know that's not the case." Serious things are being said and so she's at least half-way appropiate in how solemn she looks, until that lazily hung foot taps persistently in the air and shifts all the layers of her dress with its idle movement. "I'd like to make our relations cordial though and Lord Crom's interested in giving the Weyr an opportunity at some independence of tithes."

K'del, in contrast, has not taken her advice, and sits stiffly. "No," he allows, in a serious tone, for her comments. "You're quite right. They're not cordial. And while I've done my research on why, I am still new to it, so excuse me if the intricacies are not entirely correct in my head." Her shifting foot is distracting, and his gaze slides that way - but only briefly, before he brings it back into line. So serious. Not Going To Be Distracted. "Why would he be interested in that? There must be a catch."

Simple. Her foot stops shaking. "Cromese aren't really farmers." And lest that come off wrong, Yuliye explains it further with a lean across her bent knees, hands wrapped about her abdomen, and quicker words, "Rather," and the desire to be frank brings a flush to her cheeks, "Lord Aughan has no one he'd like to favor with this land and quite a bit of work would have to go into reclaiming it from the wilds. It would remain in Crom's possession, but forty percent of anything gained would remain the Weyrs."

One of K'del's eyebrows lift, his expression distinctly quizzical as he considers first the assertion that the Cromese aren't really farmers, and then, with a slowly tightening cant of his head, the rest of what Yuliye has to say. One hand lifts, then rests itself upon the arm of his chair. "Dragonriders are not really farmers, either," he remarks, finally, once she's finished. "Some of us may have been raised on farms, but... We would need to learn. Or trade for expert assistance. Thus cutting down our cut further. While Crom would receive the majority of the bounty - and the ability to simply decide to end the agreement, at some point in the future."

"There must be some midst your number who know how to use a till and burn away overgrown weeds and bushes." That part isn't Crom or Yuliye's problem. As for the rest, the brunette does her two-shouldered shrug again and leans away from her knees. The arms about her waist shift and slide down the length of her long legs to rest on her knees. There's a little smile that crinkles about her eyes, "Never said this would be easy. We /are/ providing the Weyr land enough to grow crops to supplement what tithes you might still continue to get." It's not a threat, mere fact of what -could- happen. "And I'm sure an ironclad, harper-written contract could be drawn up that wouldn't allow Lord Crom to do such things." Indeed, there's a flicker of disappointment in those light eyes. "Do you really think I would extend such a flimsy offer?"

It may not be a threat, but K'del, no matter how unpracticed, narrows in upon this immediately, bypassing the rest - for now - of what is said. "Might still continue to get." It's said archly, not /actually/ a question, but certainly intended to promote further explanation. None of this is to say that her disappointment has no impact upon him; indeed, he shifts, uncomfortable, turns his gaze towards the far wall instead. "I merely wanted confirmation, Yuliye. You can imagine that, in my position, I do need to be cautious."

Schooled by his repetition, her own discomfort fades that disappointment and Yuliye has the grace to blush. She scoots along the couch to the side closer to K'del and drapes arms over the armrest and rests her chin there atop her knuckles. "Sorry about that. Old habits. You hear one thing over and over again and you can't help but start wondering when the Holds' dissatisfaction with the Weyr reaches that point. It hasn't. Yet. But there's only so much history has shown the Weyrs to have offered their beholden areas other than the promise," thread? "That Thread will return again. Wouldn't it be nice to have a Hold who," she concedes with a wry turn of her lips and fingers that wrest free to tuck back her hair, "Irrelevant to what you think their intentions are, was looking to profit equitably together?" No? And if that's not convincing enough in all its earnest embarrassment at her faux pas, then maybe those fingers that reach across to his knees might serve as a nice distraction to make it harder to think?

Thinking. K'del must know how to do that, he must, but from the flicker of his expression upon the extension of those fingers, it certainly is proving more difficult. Men - particularly young ones - are so easy to manipulate. "Er," he begins, letting out a little flustered breath. "Of course. I - I'm sure you weren't actually implying anything. Of course." Can he help it that his eyes drop towards his knees, and her hands, and fix there uncomfortably (albeit not entirely unhappily, either) as he takes several more breathes. Valiantly, he attempts to regain some sense of control, "I do see the merits in the idea. Perhaps if you were to suggest to Lord Aughan - " Breath " - that we split the proceeds half and half. Your land, our labour, the proceeds shared equally."

Yuliye's eyes do this squinty thing that's not quite /displeased/ but certainly nowhere near pleased. It might actually be her own version of the thinking face, complete with that hand retrieving itself from K'del's knee to curl her index finger by her lip corner. Ultimately, all she says is that, "It's not within my power to decide that for my Lord, but I'll be sure to see how he feels about a split along those lines." If she sounds dubious, perhaps the fact that she changes the subject when standing might cover it all. Bluntly, "Tiriana said I wasn't allowed to sleep with you." Shattering dreams left and right. "And I'm not that kind of girl." Right. "But if it weren't for all that," insurmountable problems and reasons, "I wouldn't my visiting more often."

The withdrawn hand does something to assist K'del in recovering his composure, but it doesn't exactly last for long. Although he can nod slowly through her comments on Lord Aughan, looking almost as though he's quite pleased with himself, the change in subject draws an outright splutter. "She said /what/?" Disappointment is definitely there, but more than that is outright irritation. Whatever she might claim about not being that kind of girl, he continues, with lips pressed tight, "Wouldn't let her order you are. /Not/ because I'm sitting here anticipating sleeping with you," Liar. "But because - she doesn't exactly think about other people's interests." Beat. Then, recovering a little further: "Please do relay my suggestion to your Lord; no doubt we can discuss this further at another time." Read: you'd be welcome to return. Tiriana or no Tiriana.

Yuliye's smile in return is winsome and for that, despite the fact that she's not that kind of girl and he doesn't want to sleep with her, she leans down, cleavage showing summer dress and all, and presses the most chaste kiss to K'del's cheek. "You're a peach. I'm sure I'll enjoy working with you. Drink some whiskey now and take a cold shower. Just don't stop thinking about me naked." A wink. An outrageous tease. And then in a hazy cloud of vanilla, she's tripping out towards the door. Welcome to Yuliye's brand of diplomatic politics.

K'del's eyes get quite the treat. So does his cheek. His brain - well, it's not entirely working on all cylinders, not right at this moment. He takes a breath before he can respond, pushing something professional onto his expression (no, really!). "Thank you for your time," is what he gets out, working hard, before she's gone. Cold shower? Cold shower it is.