Difference between revisions of "Logs:Political Capital"

Irianke appears sometime around 3 in the morning, the party in the living cavern still going, though not so strongly. In one hand is a bottle, in the other, two bowl-like glasses, carried by their stumpy stems. "Cadejoth tells Niahvth you're still awake. I hope you're decent. Or," the intoxicated Weyrwoman laughs, "Not. It's no matter."

It's been a good half hour or more since K'del snuck out of the party, though it's also notable that he spent a fair amount of it, earlier, keeping an eye out for his eldest son; Kasey has not been a happy camper. But decent? Yes, K'del's still that, rugged up in an over-sized sweater and wool-lined slippers. "Mm," he says, from his chair near the hearth. "Come on in, Irianke." She's not expected, but she's also not unexpected.

"It was a good hatching." If you ignore the interesting dragons that sprung from the unholy pairing of genteel sunlight meets monster. "None to take between and your own son Impressed." If you ignore the other one that didn't. "Congratulations are in order, my Weyrleader, so I've brought you the best from my stores. Cheers." The glasses are lifted and the bottle is swung out for K'del to catch. Oh, please catch.

K'del catches. True, he has to half lurch out of his chair in order to do so, but it's the success that counts, right? "It was," he agrees, with that quiet hint of pride in his voice. "Nik's ecstatic, of course." The bottle gets opened, and lifted towards his nose for an approving sniff, too. "Congratulations to you, too. And to Farideh and A'rist." And all of them, but also, now, "and Jocelyn," which carries with it a note of hesitation.

"Jocelyn." Irianke has less hesitation than K'del. Or rather, none. "You disapprove?" asks the goldrider of her Weyrleader, her intonation quizzical and amused all wrapped up together.

With this, at least, there is no hesitation: "Not at all. She's been an asset to the headwoman's staff a long time, far as I'm aware." Not his milieu, granted, but a man's still aware. "She's a fine choice. It's just... guess I'm well aware that a Weyr's fortunes as far as queens can go can change in an instant, but still." Bottle in hand, he moves towards the table.

"Ah. Yes." Irianke understands this concern too well and she follows to K'del's table, placing both glasses down and gestures. Pour. "You'll want to drink for what I want to talk to you about."

Pour is exactly what K'del does; a healthy couple of fingers in each glass, before one is slid towards the goldrider, and the other taken into his own hands. "That bad, huh? Ought I to be sitting down, too?" Which, to be fair, he's going to do regardless: it's warmer by the hearth.

She can't resist the trap he lays for himself and says, with a merriness not often seen in the last few months. "Oh, K'del, if you sit, I may have to make myself cozy in your lap." Irianke flashes the Weyrleader an unrepentant smile but stays her ground, standing at that table as she watches him move. "I have no need for two juniors in an Interval. Most Weyrs don't need a spare to their heir, with the exception of High Reaches in the last few turns, in these times when more dragons aren't necessarily a good thing and more golds equates to more dragons."

K'del's, "That certainly would distract me from--" but he stops, because there are more important things to consider, if not so important as to prevent him from reclaiming that chair altogether. His glass is transferred from one hand to the other, and then? A nod. "Expected as much. We don't need three producing queens, that's for certain. Not if they keep as they have been. You'd send one of them elsewhere."

"I'd like to see how we might exercise their existence to leverage against other Weyrs." Irianke's simple words are at odds with how much she has to drink and how that first drink in this weyr is tossed back quickly. The goldrider slinks across the length of the weyr to the hearth and eases herself in right next to K'del, too close for propriety sake, curling up against him with her head leaned against his upper arm. "Some more, please," she requests, holding out her empty glass and expecting him to magic more liquor into it.

If K'del's surprised by Irianke's proximity, he shows no particular sign of it; he lets her curl, perfectly relaxed alongside her. Her request makes him laugh, and rather than move he carefully-- remarkably cleanly, even-- tips part of his liquor into her glass. Magic. "Which Weyrs?" It's thoughtful. "All the northern weyrs have at least one junior already. Most of the southern, too."

"No one in particular. Not right now at any rate," muses Irianke, thinking this out as she speaks to K'del and sips from her glass, multitasking at its finest. "But it's not just Igen that can flex the power of wanting to place their own at other Weyrs now and it is something," the goldrider says with a brighter smile as she twists so her legs stretch across the length of his couch and her back is suddenly against K'del's arm. All the better for her head to tip back and a bright smile to flash up at the Weyrleader. "I am reveling in. Let me revel. Give me this moment, Weyrleader o' mine," she quips. "To feel we might be able to one up the one upper."

K'del, glancing down at the goldrider, laughs. "You may have this moment," he promises, mock-serious but with a note of truth. "And as many more as you like. It's a good position to be in. And," he lifts his glass, a toast of sorts, "don't think it doesn't please me, to have more opportunities to win. Getting Kyouri was a good start, but there can be more. Though," more reluctant, "it's a shame to lose the first High Reaches bred goldrider we've had in turns."

"Does that matter to you?" asks Irianke, amused at his regret. This does not stop her from cozying down into that chair and sipping her drink slowly.

"Well," says K'del, after a moment's pause. "It's not as if I were born here." So it can't mean everything. But: "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it's easier, to lead a place where no one remembers when you were a a child. Or worse: a teen. Will matter to some people, though. Especially those who still see you as Igen."

"How is your second son?" Irianke remembers, even tipsy, in a nominally good mood in spite a new gold, and lying here against K'del of all people.

"First," corrects K'del. "Kasey's the older." It's not a pleasant distraction, and it does lead him to take a sip from what little is left in his glass, but no matter. "Devastated. Wants me to take him elsewhere, to let him Stand elsewhere, because it's not fair and... it sucks, Irianke."

"Will you?" asks Irianke, turning more serious and pulling herself up, putting the glass down and turning to look at K'del with a long, measured look.

K'del looks back, serious now and also reluctant. Sad. "No," he says. "But his mother might. Avey's always been a soft touch."

Irianke looks at K'del. "Why not? If the boy wants to pursue a dream, then what is your right to stop him?"

"In another few turns, we'll need more candidates, too." K'del wilts, a little, under Irianke's scrutiny. "Won't stand in his way, but actually take him to Stand at another Weyr? No."

Irianke has nothing to say to that and sighs. "True. You're right. We can't afford to let our Weyr youth seek prospects elsewhere except," the goldrider reaches to catch K'del's face with one free hand, curling fingers under his chin and looking at him again, "What if his dragon is not on our sands?"

K'del's head stays where it is, still, without seeking to pull away from Irianke's curled fingers. "That's why I'll look the other way," he says, simply. "And trust that... if his dragon is out there, they'll end up in the right place at the right time. My sister... she ended up at Benden, for hers. You've got to trust that much." Still, there's no escaping the look of sorrow caught in his eyes.

"K'del," says Irianke, her voice gentler for the liquor she's had, "You really, truly love your children, don't you?" There's an unmitigated surprise. "Why do you stay Weyrleader if you love them so? It's a thankless job that takes your time away from them."

The question surprises K'del; he blinks, hesitates, and then shakes her head. "Because it's not enough," is what he says. "Because as much as I love them, I can't be everything they need, and they... they're not enough." Never let him try to explain that to them.

"I wish... I wish I loved my son more than I loved my duty," confesses Irianke. "But truthfully, I regret how he feels about me and how I imagine him to be an inconvenience. I feel guilty I don't want him in my life more." The goldrider releases K'del's face and rises. "I'd have another drink and share more stories of our life, but I'm afraid, one more will make me ask to spend the night and I'm still lucid enough to think that is not something you'd like."

"Irianke--" K'del begins, but whatever words he might come up with to try and comfort/support/acknowledge/something fall short. Instead, "Make sure you have some water before you go to bed." It's a stupid thing to say, and he knows it. "I'm glad to be your Weyrleader. Yours, not just..." Another stupid thing. "Good night, Irianke. Sleep well."

She sets herself up for the first rejection and takes it in stride. "Good night, K'del."

K'del, rejecter of goldrider, stares moodily down at his glass. Going to bed alone? That also sucks.