Difference between revisions of "Logs:More Trouble"

>---< Weyrleader's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#1716RJL) >-----------------------<
  Rank certainly has its privileges, and among them are amply appointed     
  apartments. The short flight of stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex opens
  up into the larger of two chambers, formally decorated and clearly        
  designed to cater as much to important guests as the occupant's personal  
  living. Old, but obviously expensive, llama wool rugs dyed blue-and-black 
  cover the stone floor, leading towards the second chamber, the stairs, and
  the rush-filled dragon couch and ledge beyond it. A formal seating        
  arrangement - a sofa and chairs, all blue-and-black - sits around a large,
  tiled fireplace, whilst along the other wall, a finely made, if now       
  somewhat antique, desk sits between a bookshelf and a tall cupboard to    
  which tack-hooks have been attached, riding gear arranged neatly inside.  
  Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendour 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, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area,  
  is smaller and cosier and distinctly less ostentatious. 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.            
 -----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
  A'rist       M   18 5'8"  Slim, dark brown hair, Light brown eyes      18s 
  K'del        M   34 6'4"  Slender, Toffee hair, Baby Blue eyes         26s 
  V'ros        M   21  5'8  Slim, Brown hair, Brown eyes                  0s
 ----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------

« Coming. » It's all the warning Cadejoth will get from Lythronath.

Dawn has broken only recently over High Reaches, the drama of Lythronath and Zmeyth's return having been given an evening to become a bit less dramatic. Cleaned, bandaged, stitched if required, and given notes to excuse them from drills for a few days while they rest up, A'rist and V'ros... are not resting up. Lythronath's landing on the weyrleader's ledge comes without a roar, and A'rist eases himself off his lifemate's neck with as little whimpering at bruised ribs as possible. Quiet. Heavy. There's a wary look back to V'ros, to whom he hasn't said all that much since their return (short of organising to come in together, like bros), and then the careful setting of his posture, all things braced and ready, before he starts toward the weyrleader's weyr proper.

Zmeyth is never that forthcoming, and with his usual furtiveness, alights on the ledge to allow his banged-up rider to slip down with plenty of wincing and lip-biting; never let K'del hear you scream is the motto. V'ros is favoring his left side, the other touched lightly by his left hand, but is keeping his gaze level and forward. He follows A'rist into the weyr at a sedate pace, trying not to look at the rug or the couch or.. anything, really, save the younger bronzerider's back.

Cadejoth's acknowledge is quiet - the merest rattle of chains, really - and issued from high above the Weyr; he's on the rim, a (largely) silent sentinel. He's informed his rider, at least - K'del stands at the doorway, beckoning the younger pair inwards with a gesture of one hand, his expression solemn. Inside, they're waved towards the couch, while he takes one of the chairs, elbows hovering just above the elbow rests to either side of him. "So," he says. "From the beginning?"

Oh man, the couch. A'rist's eyebrow twitches, and for a moment, the younger bronzerider looks borderline homicidal. Or maybe that's just very determined. But he moves in, and sits, carefully and on the edge of the seat, with only a thinning of his lips against each other until he's found a way to centre his core more or less comfortably. "We were out with some guys at the hold," starts A'rist, looking to V'ros again, "and then heard about this party, so we went there. Wasn't really room for dragons, so they weren't with us, when we left." That's detailed enough, surely.

It's probably for the best, really, that K'del is a little more focused on the story than on any dubious behaviour from the two younger riders; perhaps he's simply passing it off as nervousness. His elbows, finally, settle. "Go on," he says, attention drawn towards A'rist; perhaps it's because he knows the bronzerider better. Perhaps he's simply figured that he will be spokesman by default.

If nothing else, A'rist has become well-practiced at reporting adventures that have gone horribly awry to his superiors. He doesn't look to V'ros for support once K'del has turned to him. And he goes on: "So we were drinking with the locals, and then we went out into the night to see a guy about a hat... and then there were runners, and these other guys. And they just... came at us." He shrugs. It hurts, unexpectedly, and has him wincing.

Fidgeting is about all V'ros can do. Their tale is humiliating at best, but they're retelling it to their Weyrleader on his couch. He keeps shooting glances between the bronzeriders, almost furtively, with his shoulders slumped and his fingers clasped between his knees. Occasionally, he'll nod in response to something A'rist says, but remains, oddly, mute.

"'A guy about a hat,'" repeats K'del, evenly. This time, he does glance at V'ros, but perhaps he's taking pity on the brownrider; he doesn't push him. Instead, turning back towards A'rist, "How many of them? Did you recognise them from within this party-thing of yours? Do you think they knew you were from the Weyr? Was it just marks they were after?"

A'rist looks a bit at a loss, but avoids shrugging, instead just nodding. A guy. A hat. "Three that came at us. V'ros had one, I had two. And then," now he almost looks guilty when he checks back with the brownrider, "the third, too. I don't think they knew we were riders, until Lythronath. And they just fought me, but..." This time, the look toward V'ros borders on apologetic.

Everyone looking at him makes V'ros.. anxious, and it shows, on his face, from the way he draws back towards the couch and how his eyes flick back and forth uneasily. "We.. yeah. We went outside and we were looking. Some.. someone was.. throwing up," here, he frowns, brow creasing, "and then we heard.. runners. They came.. out of no where.. and then starting.. hitting.. and kicking and.." He sucks in a breath and shrugs.

"So," says K'del, thoughtfully working through what he's hearing, out loud, "you were just good marks. Did you spend up big, before you went outside? Were you... ostentatious in any way? Or was it just, do you think, that you were there?" V'ros' anxiety makes the Weyrleader's expression twist; hurriedly, he looks back at A'rist.

Watching V'ros fidget and twist his face up has A'rist looking like someone who just kicked his own puppy, and instantly regretted it. "No, sir." He scooches farther forward, and manages not to make any strange faces while doing it, this time. "Drinks were provided, we were being seen to. And they went after the puking guy too, I think..." The uncertainty might make him waver, but this time, he doesn't look over to V'ros. "We had nothing to do with him, though. They just came at us. I don't think there was any reason."

Safe! But when A'rist finishes, V'ros clears his throat and bobs his head in a short series of nods. "We were inside and they were.. nice.. but we didn't.. we didn't spend any marks.. and the guy throwing up, he.. he was loud and then it was.." His mouth gets a little firmed, even when he speaks, "silent." That in itself has plenty of implications. His gaze drops from the Weyrleader to the ground, where it stays, at least now.

Abruptly, K'del leans back, resting his shoulders upon the backrest of his chair. "So it was a random attack, unprovoked by you. Did they steal anything from you? From the other person?" Beat. "There anything else you're not telling me that I need to know?"

A'rist shakes his head. "Not sure about the other guy." A'rist shakes his head, and grimaces at the floor beneath his feet. He looks back up to K'del when he resumes talking, at least: "When Lythronath roared, I bet that got people out, they would've seen to him. They didn't take anything on me, but I was fi- Lythronath interrupted them, anyway, before they were done."

That floor is so interesting right now. Piping up, weakly, V'ros mumbles, "I.. spent what I had.. on me.. before we.." He fingers tighten around each other and he shrugs, again. If they took anything from the other guy, who knows; he doesn't.

Blue eyes shift from one rider to the other, then back again. K'del's silent for nearly a minute. "So," he says. "Lythronath interrupted them. And they ran away?"

A'rist is ready to meet K'del's eyes, almost obstinately. "They got away," is confirmed in very much a tone of voice that suggests he might spit on the weyrleader's floor anytime, now. "I got hold of one, tripped him up, but he got away." He mouths the word 'fucker', but doesn't quite put voice to it.

The brownrider is silent this time, but nods his head at the end, to that silent utterance of fuckers.

K'del lifts one hand, running his fingers through his hair as he sighs. "Fine," he says. "And there's nothing more you can tell me about them? Nothing - however insignificant - that could, possibly, be useful to us? It's not like this is the first incident I've heard of, Nabol-ways."

"It was dark," says A'rist, voice still a bit gritty with relived frustrations. "One was big, one was little, and V'ros' guy was... I dunno. I didn't see much of him, they got me on the ground once he got there. They had runners, but those scattered when Lythronath arrived. I dunno, I think that's it?" Now he does look to the brownrider, even if it risks some unfortunate stains on K'del's couch to do so.

Another nod follows A'rist's testimony. "It was dark. I didn't see.. anything, except that ass er, the guy's foot. It was.. big?" Because that's what he asked for, obviously. "And he sounded.." V'ros shoots A'rist a troubled look, but plows through his own version with minimal wavering. "..young?"

"And Nabolese?" Young and Nabolese? K'del presses on that, though ultimately, it seems as though he's given up on getting anything more useful out of the pair of them. "Might suggest you avoid Nabol for the next little while," he suggests. "Rather avoid seeing you two in more trouble." And giving K'del trouble at the same time; this is the worst. Literally (not literally) the worst.

"Sounded," A'rist tries to confirm, though his tone is far from certain. He's still looking at V'ros. "It sort of... happened fast. And we were pretty... well, they were buying the drinks." Which is why the boys get to deal with hangovers and bruises and lacerations today. K'del gets his full attention with that command. "On our own time, or all the time?"

"Yeah.. uh, sounded." V'ros, from there, just presses his palms together and tries sinking back further into the couch. He hangs his head in the shameful kind of way, doubtless feeling rebuked by the more trouble comment. "Yes, sir," he says quietly, like a good little brownrider should do.

K'del pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, no longer looking at either of the young riders. "In your own time," he clarifies. "This kind of thing keeps up, everyone will be doing extra sweeps, duty-wise. Off with you. Stay out of trouble. And if you think of anything else..." They know how to reach him.

"Yessir." A'rist gets to his feet smartly - or, starts to, and by the time his heels have planted on the floor, is holding at his ribs with a stupid expression on his face. A painful one. There's no good way to exit, now. He nods vaguely to K'del, and starts hunching toward the ledge, only straightening partway through the trip. Ow.

Briefly, ever so, V'ros steals a look at K'del's face and then hurries - as much as one can when they're only putting pressure on the one leg and hobbling to standing - to follow A'rist out of the weyr. Away from the shame.