Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Shady Business of Search"

The Drummer's Rest is a tavern just outside the main Hold in Crom. It's not very big, but attracts a certain loyal clientele, namely those on both sides of the morality coin, who have a want for privacy and a penchant for bartering information of all variety. It's not particularly seedy, but it's also not shined up as the type of establishment that would cater to the Blooded or their ilk. Given all of those things, it's no wonder that Gallagher in his drab off-duty garb and Taikrin fit right in, safely ensconced in a dim corner booth with drinks and sandwiches. As promised, the meal is on him, but the drinks are on her. "I've got faces to find," Gal's never been one to waste time when there's business to be done, so once the barmaid's away, he's getting right into it. "Could be they're somewhere in the sweep other than the Weyr, but more like to find them there, I'd think. Finder's fee is rich on these lot, too, and more than one in a single spot is just asking to be collected." He's talking bounties, but without saying in so many words.

"You think they're hiding out in with the refugees, maybe?" Taikrin speculates. She's completely at her ease in a place like this, where her bulky jacket, riding cap, and husky voice make her reasonably androgynous and her faded hills accent marks her as a local. Already her first beer is well on its way to drained despite her pointed comments about 'tasting the dust in the Cromian swill'. "I figure at least a quarter of them ought to be up to no good. Maybe more. Anything good?"

"Hiding out with or simply are." Gallagher answers, "Some of these are real gems. Probably don't even know they're being sought. A variety of small trespasses that someone fleeing mightn't even think was a crime. Or ones who thought it would be over-looked in light of all the fear in Nabol." Shop talk is briefly interrupted so he can scarf down a quarter of his sandwich in a way that suggests hunger, or simply well-trained ability to consume what's needed in a short period of time. "If we could sweep up a good handful of them, we'd turn a decent mark between us. None are especially high value by themselves, but together..."

Amused, Taikrin is content to watch Gallagher inhale his sandwich while she merely picks indelicately at the meat of hers. "Interesting. So we're probably not talking hardened escapees looking for a fight." She looks disappointed at the thought, though the beer helps to drown the sorrows a bit. "I don't mind the marks, but it sounds like it's got the potential to eat up a lot of our time, yeah? I don't really have the spare hours I used to, what with things the way they are." It's admitted with some reluctance: Taikrin really does love the hunt. "What are you thinking?"

"No," Gallagher confirms the benign nature of the current business, and he pauses in sucking on a finger that got sauced by the sandwich quarter to smirk, "But they can wet our appetite until intel about the bigger paydays who're holding out in Nabol become a little less jumbled. Who knows, maybe that lordling will find a way to plumb his pockets deeper by the time the situation on those become clear." He's hopeful anyway, though the look is subtle as he picks up another sandwich quarter. "If they're at the Weyr, then I'm missing two things for the hunt. Access, and transportation. It's not like the Weyr to Nabol is a trek I'd like to make repeatedly by runner or wagon for payouts that are only worthwhile if we get them all, or most of them. But with a dragon, assuming yours doesn't mind transporting some who mightn't want to be transported...?"

"Transportation is easy enough to manage. A hop between doesn't take much time at all-- and I can always delegate to one of my riders if I have to." Abuse of power makes Taikrin smug, and she leans back against her chair as she polishes off the last of her flagon. "Nobody much minds a bit of peace-keeping every now and then. It's our job. Clearing out the undesirables, yeah?" After a quick gesture to the waitstaff to bring on another round, she turns back to Gallagher and adds, "Are you looking to take another vacation at the Weyr, then, to do your rounding-up?"

"So if you take care of the transportation end, I can handle the time thing." Gallagher proposes the partnership split of responsibilities. He drags his sleeve across his mouth as napkin before leaning toward the brownrider. "Well, thing is, I hate parting with a mark I don't have to. And vacation, well, that costs. In a different way. And just someone on vacation to 'Reaches in winter... Well, even with family, that's not a great cover. So I got to thinking, you've got those eggs on the sands, and candidates are harmless, right? Wide-eyed and dragon-happy. Some even stay on a while after the hatching if we've not run down all that's worth doing by then." He leaves the suggestion unsaid but implied well enough.

Taikrin doesn't respond, at first. Instead, she takes a moment to really scrutinize Gallagher from over the rim of her empty mug. Only after the serving girl has brought her a refill does she ask, with a crooked half-smile, "Are you asking now to be a candidate? Shells, if that's what you wanted, you just had to say so. You're weyrbred, ain't you? It's your right." She even lets out a low rumble of laughter that's oddly reminiscent of Szadath. "You ain't thinking your marks are candidates, though, yeah? 'Cause I reckon even Szadath'll have a problem turning in standing candidates, no matter how good the payout."

"I'll avoid the candidates, if there are any, til after the hatching, and we see if they've Impressed, how's that? Those left standing fair enough game where Szadath's concerned?" Gallagher questions, "There are some reported to be of an age with candidates, but can't say whether they are or not 'til I'm there. And there's a catch." He mentions it delicately, but directly, "Being that I am weyrbred, my birth is on record there. And as it happens, I'm a bit older than they typically allow, so we might have to do some creative re-writing of the books or sweeten someone's klah for some silence and discretion. Sound like something you can help me handle?"

"There's... there's an age-out?" This catches Taikrin by surprise. Her lips twist as she mulls, "I reckon there's got to be, to stop kids from trying 'til they've got grey hair. But really, who do you reckon will give you trouble? I can't imagine the weyrwomen really caring. Even Z'ian-- but, no. It's K'del, ain't it." At once, her expression collapses into a scowl. "He'd do it just to spite me. How many people as know you on sight are like to rat you out?"

"The way we learned it, they don't like those older than twenty-five taking to the sands. Maybe they're less teachable or just a dragon's less likely to want them. I never asked, never thought I'd have need to." Just what things get around among the weyrbrats like Gallagher. Maybe it's not even true. "I'd say there aren't any who've bothered to track my age except my siblings, and most of those love me well enough or aren't at this Weyr anymore to make a fuss. It's mostly the records I'm concerned with. I necked with an assistant headwoman once out Telgar way," What he was doing there... Well. "-and she was doing candidate intake and said something about reconciling the records or some such."

"If it's just records we're dealing with, well, those are fixed easy enough. I don't know as I've ever been in the people records very much, but I spent plenty of time in the records room as nobody's going to question it. All we need to do is mark your age back a couple turns?" She looks up from her beer to confirm with Gallagher, not at all hesitant about vandalizing the Weyr's recordkeeping. "If it's just some stupid bored assistant. Or we could put you in with a nickname, maybe, and see if they just miss the records. You could be Gally from Crom," she adds with a teasing smirk.

Gallagher's nod is slight, but enough to be seen for what it is. "Twenty-five ought to do me. It's not like I'll be looking to be searchable again. "I'll go by Gally if I get to call you Taikey for the duration. Loudly, and in public." He arches his brow slightly in challenge to the brownrider. "If you agree to that, I'll add conditions until you don't." In case she was thinking of saying yes. "Really, I think the nickname wouldn't go over well. Too many who do know my face in the Weyr. They just don't mark my age." Which seems to suit him fine.

'Taikey' has the brownrider openly and loudly guffawing. "Whatever suits you. Just you better remember as how a candidate had best not be talking back to a wingleader." Taikrin's voice and smirk is so smug that she surely must be teasing. "So, when do you want to leave? Reckon you'd better help me do the records, because Faranth help me but I'll do the wrong one and leave us down the shaft and glowless." All business now, she sets aside her beer to level the full strength of her seriousness on Gallagher. "If you're sure this is what you want. In all the turns I've known you, you ain't ever asked. You sure you want to run the risk now?"

"Oh, but Taikey, I thought you prefer 'em feisty." Gallagher bats his lashes prettily at the brownrider. It's an expression that probably only their long association brings out of him, and one he wouldn't indulge in if he didn't know full well that he's got the wrong parts to tickle Taikrin's fancy. "I can sort things to go tonight. Save you a trip back, if you like. After all, when one's asked to Stand, it's one's duty and honor to accept, right?" So that should satisfy his captain. But then there's that serious matter. "In all the turns you've known me, I've never been asked to Stand. Every one of my siblings that ride now were all Searched by a dragon's sensibilities. Don't see as I've much of a thing to worry about. But if the world turns on its head... honestly? I can't say as I'd mind. Always thought I'd make a fine bronzerider, don't you think? I've got the cockiness in spades and endured enough slaps from would-be lovers to throw my lot in with that bunch." So, apparently, he can't stay entirely serious, but perhaps the bit that is will put her fears to rest.

"Don't make me turn a couple Snowdrift greens I know loose on you," Taikrin mock-grumbles. "They'd put you back in your place right quick. Candidate." She shoves aside her half-eaten dinner and drains the rest of her second round in a couple quick swallows. "So long as you're sure it's what you want. Bronzerider, my right ass cheek. I'll drop you between myself before I let that happen. You're too nice a kid to be wasted on the likes of them." A short gust of breath later, and she adds, "Tonight's good enough. And I'm happy to tell your captain you got the honor of being searched by a wingleader's dragon, no less. It ain't often me and Szad stir ourselves to search, you know. You might be the only one we bring in. Can't very well let you linger here in the Hold!"

"The horror." Gallagher makes a fanning gesture that's far too girlish for his decidedly masculine looks and manner. Greenriders. Then he's smirking again and shoves the rest of his sandwich down his gullet in short order. "I'll try not to fight the sharp grab of Szadath's talons sweeping in to save me from my destiny when I see the bronze coming." He lifts his glass in the only gesture of thanks the guard is probably going to give the brownrider before he swallows it down in one extended draw. "I'll make the introductions when we're finished here, but, I mean, Search. That kind of thing deserves celebration, right?" He grins. "How about you buy me another drink?"

Taikrin laughs and raises her own empty glass. "It's a deal!"