Difference between revisions of "Logs:Facing the Music"
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| − | | | + | | cast =Ali, E'ten, N'muir |
| − | | | + | | summary =E'ten faces the music when he's summoned to meet Ali and N'muir and explain his and N'rov's adventure. |
| − | | | + | | gamedate = 2012.06.10 |
| − | + | | icdate =Day 7, month 13, turn 28 of Interval 10. | |
| − | + | | quote ="It's just you and I now, and you can never allow your Weyrleaders to wield too much influence over you. Make your choices. Stand by them." | |
| − | | | + | | location =Council Chambers, Fort Weyr |
| − | + | | categories =Boll's Defection | |
| − | + | | mentions =N'rov, V'rel | |
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| − | + | After the events of the previous evening, the day has been extremely quiet. There's been several summons down to Boll, and finally, in the afternoon, E'ten finds himself with some time free to himself. However, no sooner does that happen then Isyath's mind voice stretches out - almost like she was keeping tabs. She circles the skies above Fort, as usual, so she likely saw Adiulth's return. A rush of warm welcome, and then, an image: a records room in disarray, a single providing a pool of light above where Ali studies a hide. Subtle? Not really, but then, Isyath's not really trying to hide it, either. | |
| − | + | No summons. Not in the morning. Nothing sudden. It's been training as usual for E'ten and Adiulth, even if the latter doesn't suspect that they're being kept track of. The important thing is that they weren't summoned to an impromptu meeting or given extra duties by the Weyrlingmaster staff. When the bronze returns to Fort, it's a welcoming glimmer of warmth that he returns the greetings along with passing along the location to his rider. The same one who blinks unseen from behind his goggles as the dragon bugles a welcoming and audible sound before spiraling down towards the bowl. Tell E'ten anything more than that? No. They did good the previous night. Right? Dismounting with a hand against the dragon's straps, he's quick to add a suggestion that he not stay on the ground. Rather, higher where no one can get to him. Just in case. They have those straps to watch over. So when he comes into the records room, the gloves are being removed as he looks cautiously around the room before being drawn to the pool of light. Lifting fingers to his brow in a salute, safer to be polite as he greets, "Afternoon, Ali." | |
| − | + | There's a pause, Ali blinking briefly to readjust her sight before her head lifts. "E'ten," a hand lifts, and she beckons him closer. Not, weyrling. So, maybe that's good? Maybe he's definitely not in trouble? The acting Weyrwoman rises from her chair, and looks around. They appear to be alone, and that seems important, as she crosses the distance between them, reaches out an accusing, pointed finger, and pokes him in the chest. Not that it'll hurt, underneath all that riding gear. "You and N'rov! Do you know what I /should/ do to the pair of you?" She looks... upset. | |
| − | + | Maybe he's really not going to be looking at sevendays worth of punishments. Really. Tucking the gloves into the inner pocket of his leathers, E'ten had just entered the records room but it's now that a grimace crosses his features. Timed with the finger poking him in the chest, he has enough sense not to be cocky. Not even if his first reply is every attempt to sound reasonable without reaching out to intercept that finger that just made firm impact to make the point clear. "We had to do /something/, Ali. At least /I/ know we're not likely to come out of this unscathed but there's something good to come out of it." So, he'll gladly take the punishment? Maybe. "As for what you should do..." No help here. None. He's wise to this possibility. "What thoughts did you have?" | |
| − | " | + | "I'm curious, what have you done exactly?" N'muir's voice is very sudden, the Weyrleader coming not long in E'ten's wake down the Bowl corridor without his regular boots to pronounce his arrival. Instead, he's wearing what must be slippers, as stuffed with wooly fleece as they are. His brows arch expectantly, thick arms folding across his chest as he nears the pair and exchanges glances from Weyrwoman to Weyrling and back. Whatever he had come in here for is very swiftly ignored in the face of a finger-pointing woman and a seemingly guilty young man. |
| − | " | + | "I /should/ punish you both. /Should/ put you on the star stones until your limbs turn blue and threaten to drop off. I /should/...!" Ali takes a breath, narrowed gaze directed up at E'ten. It's not that easy being angry with someone when they're so /reasonable/ and you have to tip your head back to glower at them. "You're lucky the pair of you didn't get caught. Faranth," she exhales a breath, silent a moment, head dropped. Isyath reaches out to Bijedth, and meanwhile, Ali puts a hand on E'ten's arm, and attempts to steer him towards a seat. "Sit," she tells him, sounding weary, more than anything else. "Tell me-" a pause as her gaze goes to N'muir, something relieved in her manner at his presence, and amends, "-us, tell us everything." |
| − | + | Neutral to worse. That's the thought foremost in E'ten's mind as he hears N'muir's voice interrupt, intervene. Something of the sort. Taking a deep breath for whatever response that he had in store, it adjusts to an explanation beginning with "Sir." Slippers. At least, that's the only thing likely out of place on the Weyrleader that he can see thus far as he retains a straightened posture. To Ali, he would have quirked a bemused smile. Maybe he will to himself looking back on this, but not now. "Getting caught wasn't an option. I did pay attention to some of my lessons back at the Harper Hall," he tries to say by way of explaining, being guided to the table with a look again to N'muir and then back to Ali. "N'rov and I paid a visit to one of the taverns at Fort Sea Hold last night. On a hunch. N'rov thought that he had enough of an idea that just maybe Fort and Boll are telling the truth. For that to be true, it meant someone else had to be stealing the tithes due to the Weyr. His hunch was correct but there's not very much left of the tithe as we discovered. But, we have the name of a ship and one of the crewmen and where the ship had been - recently or currently." | |
| − | + | Bijedth returns the touch of the young gold, his own curiosity flickering lightning in the background of his energy to match N'muir's within the Records Room. N'muir tries to hang back on the fringes of the conversation and give Ali the dominant position, but patience are not a strong point for the Weyrleader and his posture quickly gives away his frustration. His arms hug his chest a little too tightly, his dark, intense eyes flick from weyrling to Weyrwoman and back again. A tension consumes him but still he stays quiet and waits. | |
| − | + | After pacing around the other side of the table, Ali sinks into the seat opposite E'ten, her gaze fixed on him. It'd be difficult for the young weyrwoman to cover up the glint of pride in her gaze, but she's trying. /She's/ also trying to defer to N'muir, with a sidelong look, and a subtle, "Sir?" as if to prompt him to response, although the Weyrleader's tense posture has her quickly looking away, back to E'ten, like he's safer. "I'm not sure if it will help, or hinder us, for this to come out. I'd imagine N'rov'd like Boll cleared, but- we're on such fragile ground with them at the moment." She leans forward, then asks E'ten, "What do you think?" Perhaps she's asking because of his background. Or because of his involvement. Or simply because she trusts his judgement. | |
| − | " | + | Reasonable. It's a good safe word for E'ten right now. Especially with the presence that N'muir has in clear contrast to Ali, who is somewhat safer. After the threat of star stone duty? Well, it could always be worse. Seated but without leaning forward onto either elbow, he doesn't use anything but his own common sense in the matter as he ticks off, "It at least allows us to know that Lord Boll isn't the problem. It might do well if we caught the culprits with the next tithe train, if we can get enough information. When it leaves." There's one downward curve of his finger. "Where are the rest points." And another. "Who is the captain of The Mayberry and her crew?" And there's that third finger. "Though, I recall one of the men saying that a fellow by the name of Rickon getting injured around Tillek. If we told Lord Boll and word got out preemptively, it might cause these people to change tactics. Besides that, would he even listen to this theory? Given that it means that the train was handed off somewhere and it might be his own men involved." |
| − | + | The Weyrleader moves to lean his backside against a nearby table, arms still tightly crossed over his chest. The tension within him only builds, his breath coming to him a touch too heavily for his blood not to be boiling within his veins. "Weyrwoman?" he returns, the lilt in his voice expressing his efforted willingness to bend to her command rather than offering anything constructive. | |
| − | + | "You think it preferable to catch them red handed, so to speak?" the dark-haired Weyrwoman seems surprised at first, then contemplative. "Hm. That could- that could work out better. A favorable outcome for all- assuming these thieves take the bait again." Ali leans back within her seat, fingers splayed against the table. "Perhaps N'rov would know of some trusted people on the Boll side of things, to word up- keep an eye out?" she speculates. She glances at N'muir, again, this time with a narrow-eyed, speculative gaze. Even the barely politically savvy young goldrider would be hard pressed not to notice his deference, and it draws her brow down into a furrowed line. Equally expectant of a decision, in turn, "Weyrleader?" Her deference- a default demeanor- is far more adept than his. | |
| − | + | E'ten nods, his confirmation of such an idea clear as he continues to glance between the two from time to time. "If we have the ability to catch them in the process of swapping then we should. Otherwise, we remember where their storage is and catch them there with fresh tithes that cannot be refuted. At the moment, we have very little to retrieve. Isyath saw that much from Adiulth and Vhaeryth. But we know. I'm not sure if I'll be able to offer anything else, much less be included." He's still thinking that the impending grounding is going to be voiced. "N'rov may have some contacts in Boll though. I got the impression that he really wants to see things resolved. If he doesn't know someone immediate, he may have connections. Which I hope are reasonable. Too many people knowing and our hand could be tipped." | |
| − | + | Oh, but keeping his mouth shut is paying its toll upon the uncharacteristically pliant Weyrleader. One of those tightly crossed hands balls itself into a fist and the other lifts to clasp itself over his mouth - to keep it closed? To look thoughtful? He strokes his chin in a vein attempt to appease his restlessness, stubble scraping against old, calloused palms. | |
| − | + | She's /supposed/ to be restrained. But, "/I/ think it a good idea." Ali folds her hands together. "And I think you should be included- to keep, as you say, the number of people knowing small." She's not unaware of N'muir's silence and what it portends, and it is perhaps what prompts her next words: "But it will be up to the Weyrleaders to decide how to proceed." The dark haired Fortian is not pointed, nor gloating about it, just matter-of-fact. Then, quieter, to E'ten, "I think it best if you and N'rov avoid Fort Sea for a little time... unless the Weyrleader decides to act immediately and snatch the crate that's remaining." | |
| − | + | The matter of the Weyrleaders to decide is met with a nod of his head, accepting and no hint of a smile to even tug anywhere. Not yet. He's at least breathing and somewhat more relaxed than he had been when Ali poked him. "Of course and thank you. Was there..." Again with a glance to N'muir, he can see that the normally verbal Weyrleader is anything but. Though the question is why as he looks to the acting Weyrwoman. "Anything else you needed me for?" | |
| − | " | + | At least when prompted, N'muir will contribute his opinion, even if it isn't one that Ali might expect. "Indeed," he begins, "you and I can discuss it in our next meeting; I'll be interested to hear what you decide to do, Weyrwoman." Certainly not mocking but with a definite air of intention behind his grumbling, earthy voice. His gaze shifts to E'ten, falling heavy and hard upon the young man, and N'muir shoves away from the table to hover near the weyrling. "The Weyrlingmaster and his assistants can find plenty to keep you and N'rov busy with, well and away from any thieves to distract you from your weyrlinghood." Because no good deed can possibly go unpunished around Fort - not while N'muir is wearing that pretty knot anyway. |
| − | + | There's a definite flicker of surprise that shouldn't be present in the 'Weyrwoman's' gaze, and yet, there is is. "Weyrwoman Hattie will want to weigh on this, as she did with the council, Weyrleader," Ali says, by way of subtle disagreement. And then, after a pause, back to E'ten: "Would you do me a favor, E'ten? There's a young girl - she stood with you, for Issy's clutch. Larentia, her name is. Could you- keep an eye on her? Befriend her, maybe?" Her fingers twist together: she looks a shade unsettled, but her gaze on E'ten is steady, waiting. | |
| − | " | + | There's the proverbial shoe, boot dropping. The one that E'ten expected as a final end result and the one that the weyrling rider lifts his head to N'muir with a brief nod. "Understood, sir," comes the reply before he looks across to Ali. First, with a pause and then recognition as he recalls the gir. And still with confusion while nevertheless agreeing as he stands carefully, both hands touching the table as he does so. "Of course. Is there anything I should know about her first?" Considering his words quickly, he adds, "Though, I guess that can wait for later." Before he sticks his foot in his proverbial mouth around Larentia, preferably. |
| − | + | N'muir plays a very readily submissive role in the face of Ali's command and he nods concisely. "As you wish, ma'am," said as confidently as if bowing to her command were more than just natural but expected. The business of befriending anyone is of no interest to the older bronzerider and he simply lingers with an edge of impatience hardening his eyes to E'ten. He's said his peace, now it's time to loiter around looking very displeased with the weyrling while less relevant issues get hashed out before him. | |
| − | + | Less relevant? Oh, it's no coincidence at all that Ali brings this up in the presence of N'muir. The goldrider bites her lower lip, looking hesitant all of a sudden. "It could be coincidence, but she- she's from the same hold as Bea. Ocean Breeze Hold. It could be- probably is- a coincidence." A beat, then, with vehemence, her gaze still on E'ten as if she can impart the importance of her words, "But, all the same- be /careful/." | |
| − | + | E'ten is getting the idea rather quick. Get out of Dodg-- er, the area quickly before the Weyrleader thinks of anything else to add. Then again, Ali's explanation of 'why' isn't lost on him nor what is presumed as a worse case. "I will." And it might sound as if he really does mean it. To be careful. Waiting a moment to see if anything else is added, he offers a bow to both riders before heading back to the bowl. | |
| − | + | No words could more sharply draw N'muir's undivided attention, and the look he lets lose upon Ali is cautious. Nothing will be shared vocally between the two weyrleaders in the Records Room but in the privacy of those metaphysical ties Bijedth reaches for Isyath with tendrils of concern for E'ten and Adiulth as well as question about the girl and Ali's suspicions. N'muir turns that look upon E'ten and it quickly morphes into something dismissive. "Clear skies, Weyrling." Then it's back to studying Ali. "Do you know her?" | |
| − | + | Ali waits until E'ten has left, and even after he has, she's staring at the exit after him, fidgeting. And while N'muir doesn't verbalize the concern, Ali does: "He's harper bred- he has just the skills required to be subtle enough. And- he was already a part of the same candidate class, so him reaching out won't cause concern." Unlike them. She rises, and there's something unsteady in her cast, as she pushes aside one of the hides on the table, and hands N'muir a scrap of hide. "No, I don't know her. But-" she nods to the hide, and watches him, expectantly. | |
| − | + | N'muir's anxiety comes through only in the steady way he watches his much younger weyrwoman as if expecting her to change her mind, change her words, take back what she has said- something that would ease the emotions brought on by the bit of information written on the hide. "We're grasping at really obscure straws here," he murmurs with gentle argument, trying to side-step complete disagreement. His frown weathers the corner of his mouth and he rubs his chin once more, fingers eventually drawing up his cheeks to rub his eyes. "If she has no part in this, perhaps they will just become good friends. There's no harm in that, right?" Abruptly, he emits a short-lived, dark chuckle and drops his hand, a worn smile spread across his lips. "You're beginning to sound like a Weyrwoman," he mentions with threads of pride. | |
| − | + | Watching the Weyrleader steadily and silently, Ali doesn't answer his first comment, hands folding across her middle, gaze dropping in subtle, familiar deference rather than arguing. It's only when he comments that 'no harm', does her gaze rise, tentatively, to measure his demeanor with a quick look, before she circles back around the table to reach for the pitcher of tea, refilling her own mug and pouring a second, offering the latter to him once she's crossed the intervening space between them. N'muir's latter comment, and the pride in his voice, if anything, appears to puzzle the younger weyrwoman. "Only temporarily, sir. You'll consult with the Weyrwoman? About Boll?" | |
| − | + | N'muir finally unwinds his arms from around his chest in order to take the mug with a murmur of thanks. Her watches her over the rim while he takes a careful sip with little concern for how hot it might be by now. When he swallows, he stares into his mug in silent commitment to some internal debate and shakes his head, curls gathering over the crests of his broad shoulders. "/You/ are the Weyrwoman," he reminds. "I'll tell Hattie but this is your decision." And if it isn't, N'muir certainly sounds earnest for the time being. Klah-coloured eyes settle very purposefully on Ali and he reaches out to lay a hand encouragingly upon Ali's slender shoulder if she'll let him. "It's just you and I now, and you can never allow your Weyrleaders to wield too much influence over you. Make your choices. Stand by them. Whatever the consequences, whether good or bad, we'll weather them together as a Weyr." He lingers in a thoughtful silence. "What if Hattie never takes back her position? What if she retires now?" | |
| − | + | Ali, at the best of times, is loathe to disagree with N'muir. However, she seems utterly certain of this, despite the hand he lays on her shoulder, her gaze remains downcast. "Of course it's not," the goldrider murmurs, almost apologetic for the disagreement. "Something this big- she'll step in, as she did with the council decision." Moving back towards the table to collect her own mug, she uses it more as a prop - or something to warm her hands around - than to drink. "If that day comes," and her doubtful tones suggest she doesn't believe it will happen any time soon, "I will deal with it. But the Weyrwoman was born and bred for leadership. She won't retire." She seems comfortable complacent in that. | |
| − | + | N'muir takes another swig of his tea, finger tapping contemplatively against the side of the mug as he dwells in the murky sea of his own mind. "I'll mention this to Hattie," he decides with his own sense of certainty that lends itself against Ali's opinion. "But this is it. After I talk to Hattie this is the last involvement she will have. /You/ are Weyrwoman. Not me. Not Hattie. /You/. /You/ make the choices." N'muir's dark voice gives a low chuckle. "Otherwise you might find yourself alone on the leaders' ledge. I have always thought it would be nice to spend time somewhere with a sandy beach, and I doubt it would be difficult to convince Hattie to join me if I took Nimarie along." | |
| − | She | + | For a moment, the look Ali gives N'muir is a mingling of bemusement and frustration, as fingers tighten around her mug. "She /is/ the Weyrwoman. She said so herself - I'm only looking after things while she gets better." However, his latter words, meant as a joke, are taken rather poorly to judge by the ruddy color that touches her cheeks, and the stiff-backed posture she takes, radiating discomfort. "I don't /want/ this, sir. I never did, but she needs my help. /If/ you want to leave, I can't stop you - maybe Weyrwoman Hattie will - but not I." She stares at him, expectantly. |
| − | + | If it's an argument she is looking for, it's an argument she will get. N'muir, never very far from a sharp tone or withering glare, frowns and his dark brows knit together. "You don't want which part?" he asks, far from pitching into darkness, but turning from the brighter side of his public emotions into grey shadow. | |
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| + | Since he doesn't leave, Ali appears to take that as a concession - whether it is intended that way or no, her posture easing. For her part, the younger goldrider doesn't appear to be looking for a fight; there's a slight flush of color, embarrasement turning her gaze away. "I apologize, sir. Please, forget I said anything." | ||
| + | "No, Ali," N'muir says, staying perfectly still in an effort not to assume an even more aggressive posture. There is a long moment where he lulls into uncomfortable silence, unsure of what words he intended to follow with. Instead he waves it off with his free hand and stares into his mug of tea. "I just..." The words stick in his throat and he clears it gently at first, and then harder. "Want you to be happy." He gestures to the room; the Weyr as a whole. "So if you need help with this," he begins, and then retracts his hand to comb it through his dark curls, "or if you just want someone to talk to... about your... feelings... or something... you know where I am." Awkward middle-aged Weyrleader is awkward. | ||
| + | Awkward is definitely the word of the day: Ali stares at N'muir, her expression starting off surprised, then puzzled, then a shade uncomfortable. "Sir, I think that would be... strange, for both of us. I don't need a mindhealer, and if I do- I'd go and see Liv." There's a faint smile, unforced and unbidden. "It's fine, sir. You don't have to- I'm not Weyrwoman Hattie. I'll be different, am different. It doesn't mean I-" she pauses, to find the words, and ends with, "-I'm not /un/happy." | ||
| + | N'muir bobs his head. "Good," he says, prepared to set things aside with a sip of tea in finality. But still, something isn't quite settled and he grimaces, stuffing his free hand into a pocket while he rocks back on his slippered feet. "Just... we're all in this together," he murmurs, "so... yes. Whenever you want a friend... yeah." N'muir takes his hand from his pocket and offers her another supportive pat on the shoulder before heading back out to the Bowl. "I'll talk to Hattie." | ||
| + | There's surprise in Ali's features, again that she doesn't, or can't quite hide. "Thank you, sir," she says, his pat of her shoulder earning a faint smile, completely unforced, however. Even as he's heading for the bowl, she turns to settle herself back into her chair, she can be heard murmuring, "I hope you'll tell Weyrlingmaster V'rel not to be /too/ hard on them." Yeah, she's definitely smiling. | ||
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