Difference between revisions of "Logs:Consequences"

High Reaches Hold

Isolated on its westward-jutting peninsula, from the landward side High Reaches Hold appears burrowed deep into the mountain, with only a few shuttered windows overlooking the rows of cotholds that line the river road. Its double courtyards appear designed more for transportation or defense than for welcoming visitors. From the seaward side, the slant of the windows overlooking the fine deep bay attempts to ward off the sea winds, the higher stories evading the less pleasant odors prevalent at low tide.

However cold and bleak the Hold's setting may be, inside, its colors of dark blue and tan act as neutrals for the warmer, brighter hues of its llama-wool tapestries and rugs. Below the Hold, oval caverns house lengths of seasoned wood for its shipbuilders, and to its outskirts are several minor Crafthalls including a glass-smith's shop.

Though the Hold's main access is by sea, the river road leads to its Weyr and the rest of Pern, while minor roads lead to a few outlying Holds and the distant lighthouse.

The day after the weyrling incident, if if can be called that, a letter arrives, reiterating the Weyrlingmaster's statements and offering assurances on punishments and abiding by the restrictions put forth by the Hold. The day after that, there's another letter: an update, the weyrlings in question are being dealt with severely; and a note that the Weyrwoman will attend the Hold the next day around mid-day to discuss the situation, unless other arrangements are preferable. And if they aren't, that's when Iesaryth will appear in the skies and lazily spiral down to land outside the walls of the Hold; that's when Aishani, warmly and impeccably dressed, will briskly come into the Hold proper. Her dark eyes are calm, but her expression leans toward grim.

She's greeted by one of the assistant stewards, appropriately deferential and neutral both towards the Acting Weyrwoman. He leads her down a familiar corridor, to the same door as her last visit. There, in the outer area, she's made to wait for perhaps ten minutes, before there's noise at the inner door, and it's opened, Devaki stepping out with an older gentleman wearing Tillek's colors. They shake hands, the Tillekian taking note of Aishani's presence with a flicker of gaze, before he's escorted out by the same assistant that escorted the goldrider in. "Weyrwoman," Devaki tips his head towards Aishani, then gestures towards the doorway for her to proceed him.

There's about as brief a look for the Tillekian as there is from him - something to think about later. Aishani's not necessarily thrilled about waiting, but that could be as much of the general lack of enthusiasm for the issues at hand as anything else. It's obvious she's not pleased with the situation, not pleased to be dealing with it, though absolutely none of that is directed at Devaki himself. "Lord Reaches," she offers, nodding as well, before heading in. It only takes long enough for her to be sure the previous guest is out of earshot until, "You have my apologies. The Weyr's, yes. But mine as well."

She'll probably notice him out of the corner of her eye, lurking there in the corner, the broad-shouldered red-head's gaze intent, smile almost voracious. Raum, as is his habit, says nothing, but he does slide over to shut the door behind Weyrwoman and Lord, leaning against it. Devaki gestures to a chair in invitation, and takes the other -- deliberately casual, the chairs are comfortable and low-slung -- no brooding desk separating them. The former exile steeples his hands, gazing over them at Aishani with a deliberate neutrality. "Are you apologizing for the invasion of my soveign land? Or for the fact that your riders got caught?"

Aside from letting him know she knows he's there, Aishani primarily ignores the lurker-in-the-corner, but to those who look for it, there's a tension to her frame that's subtle, but there due to him - she's not anxious, just ready. Aware. There's not much of that in the way she perches on the edge of the chair though, crossing long legs and clasping hands over knee. The question causes the faintest lift of a fine brow, and though she's still sober, there's some sort of perverse humor lurking around the quirk of her lips. "I am apologizing for the idiocy of our weyrlings in invading your sovereign land, yes." Beat. "I'd hope I'd get more credit than to send weyrlings as spies." It's sort of a joke, even if it's not really the time.

If Devaki's aware of the tension, it doesn't show in his expression. There's a shift of shoulders in response to that raise of brow, before he retorts, "Who better? They are ignorant, children. You can dismiss their trespassing with jokes and lighthearted punishment."

"Their punishment is not lighthearted. They are being viscerally educated as to the importance of the Holds and their tithes to the Weyr, and how their lives might be drastically different if they were to go without the generosity of the Holds." Any humor Aishani'd found in the moment is completely gone for that, her dark gaze cool. "If you'd like details, or to visit..." She can offer either. "As for their use as spies, I would not endanger the future of my home so lightly, particularly so soon after doing just that, if to save lives."

Devaki regards her levelly, making it difficult to tell whether he believes her or not. As to her offer of visiting: "I think it best if we keep our distance for the time, being as how it seems your hold on your people seems tenuous at best." He says it lightly, however much of a barb it is intended to be. "And as for them," The Lord need not name the two weyrlings; the spark of anger in his voice is sufficient identification enough. "They do not strike me as the sort to be apologetic nor to construe the consequences of their actions." A beat. "There will be consequences."

With a set of her jaw, Aishani does take that as intended, but offers Devaki a lovely, brilliant smile. "As you wish. We will keep our distance, without caveats or exceptions based on wing. Your watchriders will remain, and sweepriders will stop by, but there's no reason for any of our wings to have any particular exceptions, as kind as it is for you to offer. No, I think you're quite right that we should." As for the weyrlings, she tilts her head to regard the Lord for a long moment before, "You could have kept them, if you liked. You entrusted the Weyr to impress upon them the need to be apologetic and to understand the consequences of their actions. If you didn't want us to, they could be sitting in your jails. I am here to avoid consequences. So tell me: are they avoidable, or do you look for a reason to enact your consequences? Because if it's the latter, I might as well go home and save both our time."

"I would not deny the ability for riders to see their family -- would you?" Devaki tilts his head, questioningly, pointedly avoiding any mention of Glacier's exception. "Of course, if you choose to disallow your riders to visit, that is your perogative, but I will make it clear that it does not come from me." There's a faint snort, and the Lord's rising to his feet, to stride the short distance to the sideboard, the sound of splashing liquid there. The movement buys him enough time for his voice to be mostly even, a hint of amusement, "Come now, Weyrwoman. Had I kept them, you can't tell me you would not have been battering down my gates demanding their return? What did you expect me to do? Against dragons, we Holders have no defense." With a shake of his head, he moves back, offering her one of the glasses: it's a dark, amber liquid, and he waits to see if she'll accept. "If it were you -- if Holders had snuck into your Weyr, and tortured prisoners under your care in a misguided attempt to play the hero -- what would you do? Would you shake hands politely and accept the apology, though it damages your reputation and your control? We are not unalike--" the faint, wry smile harkens back to their previous meeting, "--in our circumstances. We want to protect what is ours, and make certain that everyone knows it is ours."

"I would not do that either," Aishani has to allow, and something about family does soften her voice and expression both. If she's pleased that she's made some sort of mark with Glacier, she doesn't show it. Long fingers will accept the glass, and though there's something wary in her gaze and a sniff to the liquid before she'll drink, well. She doesn't have to tell Devaki about goldriders getting poisoned, does she? Her lips purse after she listens, watching him over the rim of the glass before she sighs, "Fair. Fair enough. But we are also in a similar situation with regards to reputation and control damage... as you well know." And pointed out, but the goldrider only marks that with a smirk. "If the Weyrlingmasters could break their legs and make them relearn to walk, I think they would." There's a moment or two where she thinks before, "Tell me what you need from us to... adjust the perceptions. There must be consequences, of course, but perhaps we can mitigate them for all involved?"

The liquid scents as something strongly alcoholic, and if she tastes it, she'll find it a smooth whisky no doubt made from apples. Devaki has no such qualms about poisoning, nor does he acknowledge her hesitation in anything more than the slight narrowing of eyes, as if the display of distrust is noted. There's the cut of his gaze, very briefly, towards Raum, and then a faint smile. Finally, he sips from his own glass, savoring the taste for a moment. "High Reaches Hold will tithe to the Weyr. But you may well find the tithe is not quite as generous as normal. About two-thirds less generous, shall we say?"

At least she can handle her liquor. If Aishani notices any glances over to Raum, that would go against her policy of pretending to ignore the thug, because she knows what she's looking at, even if it's a better, smarter quality model. For the 'offer', such as it is, the Weyrwoman narrows sharp dark eyes, and takes a drink - because frankly, she needs one. "Two-thirds less," she notes. "Quite a bit. So lucky for you that you hadn't sent it along yet." Looking at what's left in her glass before glancing back to Devaki, "That might cause a longer rift between Weyr and Hold than you might like. It's a long cold winter, and a new Holder with half the Weyr against him... You won't be making friends. If you can see your way to being a bit more gracious, perhaps some different conversation can be arranged. But... that is entirely up to you." Tilting her glass his way, "Think about it, maybe?" Then she'll drink.

There's a graceful shrug of shoulders from Devaki as to her comment on the tithe: "I wanted to take account of what was being sent before it left. The delay is all mine and-- I have to break in a new Steward, as well," he adds, casually. "Since the last one failed rather spectacularly at his job." He takes another sip from his glass, while bright blue eyes continue watching Aishani avidly. His lips draw downwards into a thin line. "I don't care if I make friends amongst the Weyr. They already call me murderer, exile -- what could possibly be worse than that? My people are what is important to me." He pushes to his feet, setting his glass down with a clank. "I'll think about it," he acknowledges, but doesn't sound overly convincing.

"How much easier would life be if all that went away? People hardly say 'exile' anymore unless it's in relation to you." Aishani is careful to avoid 'murderer', careful not to show how she might feel one way or the other about that appellation - or who it might actually belong to. Setting her glass down as she rises in one quick motion, "What could be better, is what I wonder. Friendly riders can help in more ways than one, I imagine. But I'm just thinking out loud here." A wave of a hand, like it's just some idiot thought out of her head, like she's not pitching. She pauses, resettling her jacket before, "That, I understand. Just consider how... managing your image issues might help them more. At least you can manage yours." That's wry, but not regretful. "Your time and consideration is appreciated, Lord Devaki, as is your hospitality. I hope we see each other next on some not-dire occasion."

"Names mean little, Weyrwoman. If I grew tired of the appellation I could very easily have it disabused -- by one of your own, whom everyone would trust the word of. But -- in some ways, murderer is easier than exile. The latter makes me recall the eighty Turns my people were wrongly imprisoned on the Island by your Weyr." Another thing that no doubt hinders good relations with the Weyr -- by the end of his words there's a heat that hasn't been present throughout their conversation, an anger not yet abated by his new status. And while he gazes at Aishani while he speaks, there's no indication her words are taken in, his expression growing blank by measures, until there's the slightest hint of a polite smile. "That is up to... we shall see," he murmurs, an unaccountable amusement briefly present, as he moves to escort Aishani to the exit. Raum slouches forward, still at arm's length, but closer, as Devaki opens the door.

Strangely, Aishani doesn't seem as surprised as she should be by Devaki's information - there's a lift of fine brows, but it's more like something clicks into place - oh, I see. Interesting. "Maybe I'm wrong. Some people still think H'kon is responsible for Iolene, despite it all. And yes, my Weyr." That last is... odd. Wry. Mocking. High Reaches is certainly the goldrider's Weyr, but by her tone, that's not exactly all that it should be. She could point out that it hung her father besides, but that's a little obvious. As for that blankness and the last - it's all noted, but not remarked on. "I live in hope and suspense," she says flatly, still not-flinching or reaching for concealed knives or anything as Raum comes closer on her way out, but there's that readiness there across her shoulders, in the bend of her knees. Out the door, she'll break her policy to tell them both, "Enjoy your afternoon." If she seems pleased to be done, well. She didn't look thrilled to be start in the first place.

Aishani likely isn't the only one glad that she's leaving, if the fleeing glance of Devaki's expression is anything to go by, before the door shuts behind them. That assistant is there, again, waiting to escort her safely out to the courtyard.