Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Birthday Gift To Oneself"

K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug: there are almost always papers spread out across it, some of them important, others more inclined towards the fingerpaintings created by small fingers. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphenalia.

Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the antique skybroom desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy.

Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. 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.

Morning finds K'del not in his usual spot in the Council Chamber, but curled up on the couch within his weyr, bare feet poking idly at a threadbare spot on the upholstery. Mug of klah in hand, he's flipping through a set of reports in a relatively blase kind of way; he hasn't been hiding, since the flight, but nor has he been especially visible. Anyway, at this time of turn? There are plenty of reasons to be outside of the weyr. Just - unluckily for him - not this morning.

Tiriana, too, has been not especially visible, and borrowed of Iovniath's frost when she has to be. Iovniath herself has given between a run for its money, her frigid touch palpable over the entire Weyr despite her not leaving the darkness of her weyr. It's only now that Tiriana braves this particular weyr, invading as usual without notice. "You're fired," she announces without preamble. "A couple of the drudges will be here shortly to help you vacate."

Iovniath's chill has not sent Cadejoth scurrying back, not this time; there's warmth in his chains, now, sunshine reflecting back upon those in contact with him - and on Iovniath not at all. No doubt K'del has been anticipating fireworks; he certainly doesn't seem surprised by Tiriana's entrance, though her words do rather raise his eyebrows. "You can't fire me," he points out, evenly, doing his best to keep emotion out of his expression and tone. "That's not how it works. Until she rises... and that could be turns away."

Tiriana, stubbornly, "Yes I can." She even crosses her arms over her chest, more like her four-year-old than the thirty-something mother-of-three she's supposed to be. "It's my birthday present to myself. I have to say, it's probably the best thing I've ever gotten myself and that includes Iovniath."

"Your birthday present," repeats K'del, sounding rather as though he's about to laugh. "For fuck's sake, Tiriana. Did you never stop being a sulky fifteen turn old? You can't fire me. If you want to stomp and storm and tell people you did, you go ahead. But I'm not going anywhere. Why don't you make her rise right now, and do it properly?" By the end there, he's taunting her, with a smirk to match.

Her fist-clenching is probably all-too-familiar, too, even if it's been a while she's unleashed it on anyone--or, really, needed to, considering most people would jump if she said to. All except the one she actually wants to. Tiriana scowls. "Yes, I can," she insists one more time. "I'm sure there's precedent for it somewhere; I've got a harper looking into it. Anyway, if Satiet can murder herself and N'thei can up and quit, I don't see why I can't just fire you. I'm the one who made you in the first place. Me and Iovniath, and if you think I hate you now--"

For once, K'del is surprisingly calm: perhaps he really has learned something these past nine turns. He favours Tiriana with an almost sympathetic glance, certainly one that doesn't suggest he's taking her entirely seriously. "Pretty sure I can deal with your hatred, darling," he says, sounding utterly unconcerned; downright lazy, really. "Not going anywhere. Not until she rises and replaces me. You'll notice, with Satiet, with N'thei? It was their choice. You don't get to decide for me."

"I suggest, then," and Tiriana is taking a threatening step toward K'del, "that you decide to step down. And leave. Iovniath can make you, of course, but it'd look better if it was all you." Minus her threats, of course. "Conflicts of interest, personal reasons, I don't care what. But you are not making her look like a fool and then just--" A hand gestures around the weyr, to indicate all its trappings.

But K'del is shaking her head; resolute. "No," he says, calmly. "No. Not going to, Tiriana." He hasn't moved from his position, but that doesn't mean he's not keeping a careful eye on her as she takes that step forward. "Not going to argue it, either. Until she rises and someone else catches, I am the Weyrleader of this Weyr. And you're just going to have to deal with that, however humiliating."

[RP then devolved. However, K'del ends up in the Infirmary with a broken arm, so it's a safe assumption, really, what happened.]