Difference between revisions of "Logs:No Good Cops Here"

Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr

At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest.

Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention.

A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind.

High Reaches doesn't have a prison as such, but it's easy enough to store a single person in a room with a lock and a guard outside. Today is not the first occasion the prisoner - a twenty-two turn old kitchen worker and High Reaches native by the name of Essara - has been interrogated, though most of those conversations have taken place in her cell. Thus far, she has refused to say a word. Today, however, she's escorted by three dragonriders all the way through the passages and corridors, and delivered to the Council Chambers. Is that weakening resolve in her expression? Does she look ever so faintly uncomfortable?

In the Council Chambers, there is a table covered over with a sheet, weirdly uneven and poky-looking. There are chairs pushed away from one side of the table. And there are two weyrwoman, both tall and potentially intimidating. Brieli is doing her level best to look intimidating, not only standing to her full height, but in boots that make her taller besides, dressed in all black like an executioner - and isn't that some irony? She directs the riders to seat Essara at the end of the table, where she'll stand, silently and soberly, arms folded over her chest. And she stares, dark eyes hard and flinty.

The other weyrwoman wears not black, but gray. The same plain, long wool dress that Azaylia has been wearing- though it looks freshly laundered today. Noticably shorter today, she stands next to Brieli with an expression that is would be surprisingly measured, if not for the hint of misery that clings to her downturned lips. Eyes follow Essara as she's escorted to her seat, somewhat glazed as a million thoughts run through her mind. Her hands are folded in front of her politely, ashen skin hiding just how tightly she's squeezing, "Would you like anything to drink before we begin?" Quiet, there's no real feeling behind the offer, a force of habit.

Essara swallows, and it's a heavy enough swallow to be both visible and audible: a sure sign of her present distress. Despite that, she makes no move to answer Azaylia's offer, and nor does she look in the direction of either of the weyrwomen, instead preferring to stare at the table in front of her, even once she's been seated. Her hands rest carefully upon the sheet-covered table; she pays no mind to the guards behind her, nor, really, to the pair of goldriders.

Brieli just looks at Azaylia for even offering, but says nothing. Though when the girl says nothing, she turns her attention back to Essara, lips pursing. Not unfolding her arms or moving, she eventually says, tone flat and hard, "The way I see it, you have two options: Option A and Option B. Option A: You tell us the truth, you tell us everything you remember, and you do it now -- and after, you go back to your life, though perhaps not in the kitchens." She doesn't explain Option B, ominously. "It's all up to you. This is not an exercise in finding a scapegoat; that's pointless."

Azaylia accepts Brieli's look with that same bland expression. Her head tilts faintly to the side, as if to say: really? But it is that last bit of programmed hospitality from the older goldrider. Her eyes don't slide to the other weyrwoman during her ominous words, steadily watching Essara instead. "We just want you to tell the truth... it can't be that hard?" Unless... unless. But it seems she's willing to allow the kitchen worker her innocence until proven guilty.

There's a deep inhale from the kitchen worker, and then, finally she opens her mouth. It's hard to know if she's aware of the undercurrents between the two goldriders - certainly, she's still not glancing in their direction, and even more certainly, her words are not specifically for them. She might as well be speaking to the table, or to her guards, or, indeed, to anyone at all. "Don't pussy-foot around it. You want to know if I killed her. The exile bitch. The upstart. She should never have been allowed to walk onto those Sands. She should never have been rescued! Exiles don't get rescued, that's not how it works."

Coldly, "It's a good thing that you're aware exiles don't get rescued." Brieli lets that sink in for a moment, though she hasn't said that's what she plans to do, either. "We want to know what happened. If it so happened that you killed her, then fine. If you didn't, tell us what did happen. I don't care what you think-- thought of her. What I care about is what you did that day, who you talked to. But if you want to incriminate yourself, you're doing a stellar fucking job. Brilliant." She doesn't glance over at Azaylia, but she does give the other goldrider a moment to speak - maybe she's not such a bitch.

Essara is be allowed to speak freely, which may not do her any favors. It's the disrespect of Iolene, of someone who's passed that has Azaylia leaning forward to SLAM the palms of her hands against the table. With a cock to her head, her gaze gains a primitive spark for a moment. Just, a moment. Pulling back, the junior swallows and folds her stinging hands back in front of her. "Yes." The woman finally manages with a blink that lasts a few seconds too long, "We want to know if you killed her. The former Weyrwoman."

Brieli's coldness doesn't make much of an impact on Essara, who is clearly doing her very best to be unbothered by this interview; unfazed. But even she can't pretend not to have noticed the slam of Azaylia's palms: she flinches, and for the first time, her gaze lifts towards the pair of them. "I didn't kill her," she says, and there's no sense of a lie in her expression: she's too fervent for that. "I wish I had. Whoever it was, he or she is a hero."

There's a flinch, a twitch even in Brieli's steely demeanor - and there's a moment where there's violence clear in dark eyes... before she realizes that Azaylia might do just that right now, so steps between Essara and the other goldrider. Quietly, "Keep talking like that, and I'll just leave her in here with you." Clearly, Hraedhyth is listening, and won't be interested in holding her rider back.

Azaylia parts her lips as Brieli crosses her path, possibly ready to aplogize and thankfully cut off by the other junior. Lips thin out, and she leans ever so slightly to the side, peering at the kitchen worker from around her friend. Watching. "You didn't kill her." No relief, because Iolene's still dead. "You say you didn't. If you had been doing your duties... she might still be alive." No fire, no passion, just cold, miserable fact.

"She won't kill me," Essara is confident of this, speaking so plainly to Brieli - and ignoring Azaylia so wholeheartedly. "She wouldn't hurt me, either. She's too soft for that. You're the only one with any fire, but you aligned yourself with her so completely, so... What is this Weyr coming to?" She shakes her head, tossing her hair over her shoulders. "Whoever it was was determined. I would love to take credit for helping, but my actions clearly made no difference to the end result."

"Depends who's in control," Brieli shrugs a little, glancing at Azaylia over her shoulder. "I know if Hraedhyth thought you did anything to contribute, she'd want you dead. As for me..." She smirks a touch at Essara as she leans on the table, looking at the girl. "Fort isn't the only Weyr that can drop people between. I doubt anyone would miss you." And she really does doubt that, by the look in her eyes. Or maybe it's just that she doesn't care. "What were your actions? Did you prepare anything for her, see anyone else do it? You deliver food sometimes, we're told... Any deliveries that day?"

"Hraedhyth is listening." Was there ever any doubt? Azaylia's voice is quiet, tense, "And she misses her mother. A lot." Even if such a human connection to Ysavaeth has long since faded over the days. Brieli's threat grabs her attention, eyes darting to the woman in black. There are none of the expected objections, only, "I-" Let's not forget the queen, "We, want her out of the Weyr." She gives Essara a look that's somewhat saddened, "It's up to you how you leave." With what she gives them.

Essara swallows, and here, now, is a definite indication of apprehension. "I didn't do anything wrong," she says. "You can't make me leave when I've done nothing wrong. It's not required, liking the Weyrwoman. If it were, half the Weyr would have to leave." That plaintive note is increasingly audible. And then: "She sent for tea. I made it, but it was just normal tea. I didn't want to deliver it. I refused. The dumb waiter is broken to the Weyrleader's weyr and she always had to stay there instead of her own weyr."

"If they want you to leave, who am I to argue with that? It's your big mouth that got you in trouble with them. I gave you options, it's not my fault that you didn't take the right one." There's a sad shake of Brieli's head for Essara, as she pushes off the table. "Nothing wrong with not liking the Weyrwoman, but that sort of talk can be considered treason. Certainly worth 'exile'." Feel those quotes. But then, there's a faint hope of redemption - she gives Azaylia a glance, before, "Who delivered it then? I'm sure that they might consider letting you stay if you cooperate, even belatedly."

Azaylia gives a faint nod, almost non-existent, at Brieli's words. "We can't stop anyone for thinking what they will..." Shoulders tense, and the squeeze to her hands intensifies, "But someone has died. And I won't have you spewing nasty things about them right in front of us." Us. Protective, for Brieli and her dragon both, though the words seem to be outwardly affecting this gold pair the worst. An audible swallow, followed by a little force, "Answer the question."

All this talk of exile may be making Essara uncomfortable, but something squares in her jaw even so. "I've no idea," she says, and if her expression is anything to go by, she's telling the truth. Of course, that doesn't mean she is. How could she not know?

"All right. If you're sure." Brieli stares at Essara for a long moment - then shrugs diffidently, what can she do? Looking over to Azaylia, arms folding again, "We'll get rid of her."

Azaylia sags, losing her resolve at Essara's answer. Or, is it that she's sad for the kitchen worker? "Good." It doesn't sound good, carried on a weak sigh with a voice devoid of strength. "She doesn't belong in the kitchens, anyway. It doesn't sound like she was doing a very good job." Her eyes are on Brieli, subtly searching, but resigned.

Essara is not resigned. Essara is... terrified? "I didn't kill her," she yells, visibly shaking. "I didn't kill her. I didn't hurt her. You can't--" Tears are beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. "All I did was make tea. Normal tea. I don't know what happened after that."

Brieli turns back, if only to lean over the table and look at the girl again, her expression serious. "Are. You. Sure." There's a long pause. "Are you sure you don't remember what happened after that." The goldrider gives it the sound of a last chance.

Azaylia strains, "Use your inside voice." Though it doesn't hold enough of a scold, still too exhausted. Fed up? Possibly. "You're hurting the weyr. Even if you don't know, by staying quiet for so long..." Now there's a frown, and she looks close to crying though there are no tears. "You don't deserve to live here."

"You don't deserve to lead it. And neither did she. I love this Weyr. I've always loved it," Essara can't seem to stop the words coming out of her mouth, now, or the edge of hysteria. "I did what I had to do. I didn't talk so that the person who did it, the person who saved our Weyr, could get away. I made that sacrifice, and I'm not ashamed of it."

"And you want to die for it. You've basically shown that," Brieli tells Essara, dangerously quiet in the face of hysteria. "You don't get to decide who deserves the Weyr or not. And you don't get to decide who gets away. All you get to decide now is live or die. And if you want to live and continue to love this Weyr, then you tell us who you didn't talk about. Now."

Everything Azaylia could hope to say, Brieli says it better. She's quiet, as still as someone who has decided to do something that she doesn't want to do. She takes a step closer to the other junior, fingertips touching black fabric as her quiet voice is barely audible, "Who would do it?" Drop Essara between? Or, who would take her to be exiled? She doesn't elaborate, "I could, if..." She doesn't finish, it's because she can't.

Essara's chin lifts. "I will be a martyr to my cause, if I need to be. Others will rally around me. My sacrifice won't be forgotten." But there's a wobble, too - and an uncertainty, rather as though she's close to breaking.

"Not if no one knows what happened to you or where you went." With a little sigh, Brieli shrugs. So sad. "It's not like we'll spread the 'tale of Essara', and I don't see any Harpers here. Also, no one writes ballads about people who kill Weyrwoman. And it sounds like you might as well have. We gave you the chance to speak, and you won't. So what do you expect? Pity? Consideration? Hardly. No one will know what you did. No one will care." Turning to Azaylia, she considers before, "I'll deal with it. Call the guards for some rope?"

Azaylia closes her eyes, letting the other weyrwoman say what needs to be said. Some might call her a coward, in that moment. Until, her hand creeps up Brieli's arm to find her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. With a glance to her friend, "No. We're in this together. We'll both do it." She isn't leaving Brieli with the hard choices anymore. Without looking at Essara, and with one last squeeze, she turns with long strides towards the door.

Essara lets Azaylia get most of the way to the door, moistening her lips with her tongue, before, finally, she lets out a breath. "Wait." She has to swallow before she can continue further; she has to close her eyes and blink back some tears. "It was I'kris. He said he'd take it. But you can't believe he would be capable of such a thing." It seems genuine: it seems as though she's horrified at the idea, though whether it is because it is I'kris himself, or because he's not a loyal High Reachian - that's harder to know.

"I don't know what to believe," Brieli says, suddenly honest in the face of that revelation, weariness beginning to show in her demeanor as she moves away from the table, looks over Azaylia's way bleakly. "But I believe that's what happened." There's a long pause, before, with a purse of lips, "You should have told us before. I don't know if we can believe that anyone who loved the Weyr would endanger it by withholding information. We'll talk about what happens to you now." Looking back to the other goldrider, "Any more questions?"

Azaylia freezes at the name, muscles in her back tensing and rolling beneath the gray wool. "I'kris." She repeats. It won't be hard for Brieli to understand why she stays so still, to tense. Iesaryth will be able to feel Hraedhyth's flames, hear the drums of war and realize that the junior is the only reason the gold is not charging off her ledge. "Do..." Her voice trembles, not with sadness but with effort. "Do you have... any family? Outside?" Arms at her sides, her hands are tight, flexing fists.

Essara's gaze slides from Azaylia's back to Brieli and then back again, and now she seems genuinely mystified, as though she's trying to get her head around these reactions to the name she's offered. I'kris? But... It's Azaylia's question that has her freezing all over again. "No," she says, very quietly. "High Reaches is my home. You can't understand. Neither of you. You don't belong here the way I do. I would do anything for my home. I'd die for it, if I needed to. We have our vengeance. The Weyr is safe again."

Iesaryth's waves crash and roll, flowing out to try to calm the other gold. Brieli's expression betrays a bit of concern for Azaylia before that passes, before she walks past the other junior's tense form to call in the dragonriders who had escorted Essara here in the first place. As they enter, something about what the girl says has her pause, but still; "We're goldriders. We are this Weyr. And as long as anyone thinks we can be killed if they don't like what we do, we'll never be safe. Congratulations on your vengeance." She has a ghost of a smirk for that, staring down at the covered table, leaning over it.

"I ask..." It's hard to breathe, hold on to Hraedhyth and speak, but she's managing. Barely. "Because not everyone thinks the way you do." Breathe, hold, speak, turn. She faces them now, conflicting emotions in her gaze as it finds Essara. "There are a lot of dragons," Beat. "P-people, who would hurt you if they knew. It'd be for your own g-good." Azaylia jumps as Brieli walks past, letting her have the final say as she tries to get her dragon under control. Iesaryth helps immensley, and between the two they might have Hraedhyth furiously simmering, but still.

Although Brieli smirks as she says that last, Essara is undaunted. "Then perhaps, in future, you will all remember that you serve the Weyr: the Weyr does not serve you. We won't put up with being led by tyrants. We won't idly stand by." Azaylia's words seem to perplex her: she shakes her head. "If you want me gone, you'll have to forcibly remove me. This is my home. I stand by my actions. I have done nothing wrong. Nothing."

"You can believe whatever you want, but standing idle and silent when a Weyrwoman has been killed is wrong. And as I said, your words could be considered treason. Perhaps you can consider how your actions have benefited the Weyr in any way while you wait for us to decide where you go. And remember," Brieli turns to stare at Essara again, dark eyes hard and narrowed. "We can still make you disappear if you keep it up. We will remove you, because you don't help, you poison." Almost literally. To the riders who escorted her here, "Take her away, and gag her if you have to, if she tries to spread any more of her..." She doesn't have a word for it; she waves them away. It isn't till well after they've left that she begins to look troubled, deeply conflicted.

Azaylia's fingers twitch, rising up as if to cover her ears, to keep Essara's nastiness out. She doesn't, hands turned into claws at either side of her head as the dragonriders take the kitchen worker away. Speaking of, "She's not allowed back in the kitchens." It's spoken through teeth that are bared in effort, as well as an echo of her dragon. The further she is from Essara, the easier it is to calm. It's some time before she's able to walk over to Brieli, enveloping her in a short, squeezing hug.

"Kitchens are still on a limited rotation," Brieli tells Azaylia in a tone as bleak as her glance earlier. But she doesn't stop the other woman from hugging her. It takes awhile before, "I don't know what to do. But let's sit with this a bit before we talk to... him." She's still staring down at the covered tabletop as she speaks. There's a long pause before, "I don't know how this will go, but I will handle Monaco if you want."

Azaylia doesn't linger, not with muscles jumping and twitching. She might squeeze the breath out of Brieli. "I... Oh. Oh right. I forgot." About the kitchens. Finally able to take in a long breath, the sigh that follows has her deflating to rest hands on top of the cloth. This time, she's careful. "First H'kon, now..." She stops, looking over at her friend and giving a firm shake of her head. "You didn't give me that wake up call just to have me do nothing. If you want to handle Monaco, okay." Brieli does have a closer relationship, after all. "But you need to let me help." From now on.

Brieli does let out a little squeak at the tightening, but doesn't complain. "We'll see. I don't know if we should call him down right now or if H'kon should be there or even what we do with them. Because it's not just him." There's Svissath too, and both golds felt his distress. "We can't... I don't know what they'll accept that we can accept. And we can both be there when we talk to them, unless... we need them to think I'm on their side. We need to figure out how to do this before we... confront him."

"We need to wait." Azaylia agrees, giving a little nod as she straightens up. "Svissath..." The name may be scorched into stone in her dragon's mind, but the woman's tone is sympathetic. Scared. "A dragonrider. I can't believe... Well. We still don't know for sure." She'll cling on to that bit of hope. "If you think that's best, you can talk to Monaco. Just... keep me updated?" She requests, weakly. "It'll take time. And Lujayn needs help- she can't run the weyr completely on her own." Azaylia's speaking more of her own slacking off in their normal duties. "He can't leave, not until we talk to him. And... I don't know if H'kon should be there. Arekoth is..." Like Hraedhyth, at least in this.

"Arekoth wants to see something happen. We'll... They can't tell him, not yet." Brieli has a too clear memory of the brown's prodding at Iesaryth, his sharp, chill anger and impatience. "We don't know everything, we can give him the chance to talk. He's my clutchmate," she says, in a bit of disbelief. As for Lujayn, she quirks her lips a touch, noting, "She's not acting Weyrwoman." Who is? "We'll figure out how we deal with Monaco, and then we act. We'll wait, if you can hold Hraedhyth back. We also need to know what we want and what we'll accept for punishment." After a long, low sigh that's closer to a groan, "This is awful. I'm going to go lie down, I think."

"Hraedhyth, too. I won't let her tell." The older weyrwoman keeps close, "Oh, Brieli." Miserable, she'll use a much gentler touch to usher her friend into a hug. "He's only your clutchmate. We'll figure something out." It's quick, the touch of her lips to Brieli's temple, even if she has to tiptoe due to the other's boots. "It's terrible." She agrees, after. "But we'll figure something out." With a delicate pat-pat to her friend's lower back (rump?). "Go get some rest." She's likely to do the same, after seeing that her dragon is as calmed as she will allow herself to be. They have answers now. Answers that just lead into even more questions.

Brieli has reluctantly accepted Azaylia's hugs, but this extension of the other junior's affections has her uncomfortable - she's only been seen to crawl all over one person, and despite her fondness, Azaylia is not him. Even so, she's just awkward for a moment until she's released, and nods. "It'll get sorted. And I'll try." She sounds grateful for the help at least. There's a moment where she pauses, before striding for the door; she says, "You know I wasn't going to kill her, right?" Though she's hopeful, she doesn't wait for an answer. Maybe she doesn't want to know - instead, she just strides for the bowl.