Difference between revisions of "Logs:Non-Verbal Communication"

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.

H'kon bears the discomfort of calling official meetings in an official room with the same grim expression that's seen him so well through other hard times in his dragonriding career. A midmorning meeting with D'nis - well delayed, since B'sil's resignation - is no different than any other meetings he's grudgingly brought forward with other wingleaders - most notably, of late, his own. The brownrider does not sit in the head chair, but off to its side, his seat oriented so he can peer to the entrance, and nothing laid out before him but a pair of gloves and a toque. And so, he waits.

D'nis is middle-aged, a sandy-haired man built on average lines, but burly - a one-time beastcrafter who comes across as slow as his former charges, though he certainly isn't. He's got his riding helmet tucked under one arm as he enters, and his gloves tucked into the pocket of his coat; it may well be an intentional reminder that he has been out leading his wing, though he certainly doesn't remark upon it. "H'kon," he says, neither cautious nor especially respectful. "You got something to say to me?"

H'kon stands as D'nis enters, ducking his head, a quick and borderline respectful greeting on his part (and his saluting hand might be seen clamping a bit nearer to his side, fighting the urge). "D'nis," is answered back after a slight hesitation. But the short brownrider straightens his shoulders, lifts his chin enough that his gaze is straight on. Carries on with that same grim look to him. "Nothing long. Only that, with B'sil's retirement, I see no reason that your taking his place should be questioned. At least until there is a proper leadership in place." This time, hesitation is on the cusp of something more. H'kon finds patience enough to wait for any sort of response before barging ahead.

Hazel eyes consider H'kon carefully for several moments; D'nis makes no attempt to sit, though he acknowledges the other brownrider's greeting with a nod of his own. His expression is unreadable, even as he opens his mouth to answer. "'At least until there is proper leadership in place'," he repeats, neutral, but also fainly dismissive. "Which means, you'll make me act in my position for another two or three Turns, while your... colleague scoops up a Wing for herself."

Grim turns to troubled, with perhaps a hint of confusion thrown in for good measure. H'kon studies D'nis in turn, fingers reaching forward to press against the table. "I was under the impression you were the best suited for the task. You've rode with Iceberg for longer than I've rode at all, have you not?" Asked as a question, but that bit of disquiet gives it an extra edge, similar to firmness. The fingers on the table roll to their knuckles. It's a means of making a fist, sort of. "How Glacier reacts to her claim..." And he trails off that edge, and lands on uncertainty. It makes him frown more.

"I am. I have." It's prompt - it's also frustrated. "I want it official. Glacier will do what Glacier does; they always have. They always will. My point is: I don't want my Wing to sit in limbo for Turns, while we wait to see if a proper Weyrleader approves of my appointment. Make me Wingleader, no ifs or buts or 'until someone says otherwise'." D'nis shifts his helmet under his arm, fastening his gaze squarely at H'kon. "Whatever anyone thinks of this situation, right now, our weyrwomen have given you authority. Use it - do something useful, something right. For once."

"Any appointment is until someone says otherwise," is out of his mouth, maybe a fault of dangling too near that edge, before H'kon can stop it. He pushes his mouth closed, firms up his jaw, and, but for the change around his eyes at that final jab from D'nis, stares at the other man. That fist presses the table mercilessly. That table doesn't give. Finally, H'kon diverts his gaze long enough for something to sort, for him to give a nod. Back at D'nis: "They have." It still takes some hesitation. "Give your wing what stability you can as wingleader, then." And that probably could have used a bit more strength behind it, though it doesn't shake so much as it might have. Maybe it's the table.

D'nis doesn't flinch - he barely reacts at all. Instead, quite calmly, he agrees, "That's true. Me, I'd be concerned about my position if I were you. Watch you don't get yourself shut out, with a woman like that around." Presumably he's talking about Taikrin, given previous words, but really... there are so many women, who can know for sure? It's only a casual warning, one that's followed not by a respectful salute, but by a sharply jabbed nod. "My wing appreciates your decision," he says. "H'kon. Look. You're in an awkward position. It's not one I'd want, that's for damn sure. So I do appreciate this. Don't let them bully you. And if you let them take my Wing away?" Another sharp nod. He's just saying.

H'kon looks little comforted by those words from the other brownrider. Even a bit pale, though he stays standing, and yet another nod - subtle brownrider communication - is given firmly. "My purpose in this is to see to it that my position - these positions - are not abused." It's not said overly loudly, but that statement, at least, is certain. He had to have at least one, beyond knowing the new wingleader's name. A brooding silence isn't given its full run, and H'kon halts the look that had been drifting down to the table, eyes sharp again on the other rider. "D'nis. If she should try to act against this... Against any of the current wingleaders, that you hear of, you will inform me." It's still more request than order, for all he maybe half-heartedly tries to make it otherwise.

Is that begrudging acknowledgement, and even perhaps respect, in D'nis' nod this time? It's hard to tell from his expression, but there might be a minute softening found therein. "You have my word," he promises. "It's... encouraging. To know that someone, at least, has no intention of uprooting the basic structures of our society." Another nod: brownrider code. Having said that, however, he seems at a loss as to what else to say - or do.

H'kon, at least, has some sense of how to go on. End the thing. So, "I thank you for your time, wingleader" is issued to the other brownrider. And he removes his hand from the table, clasping it behind his back with its counterpart, and waits for D'nis to leave first.

H'kon probably won't be able to see D'nis' expression when he turns away, having executed one final, chin-jutted nod. It can't seem to make up it's mind: he's pleased, he's relieved... and he's also deeply, deeply concerned. "Good luck, H'kon," he says, as he retreats past the door. And, muttered: "You're going to need it."