Logs:Harassment Suits
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| RL Date: 20 May, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, Azaylia, K'del |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Lythronath has caused disruption. Azaylia and K'del step in. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Fayla/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions |
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| 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. Lythronath is on the weyrleader's ledge. Directly. Visibly. It's something that has made waiting fine. For now. The ledge bears fresh talon scratches, claimed. His roar out to the bowl is loud, its echo ricocheting off various walls in A'rist's wake as he makes his way into the council chambers. He's early. It gives him time to go and look at the llama tapestries. Or maybe to stare through them, and think about why he's been summoned. Or even how he got here so fast in the first place. Cadejoth is not on the weyrleader's ledge - but then, he never is. He's up on the rim of the bowl, instead, looking down over the dragons that have, little by little, become his pack again. Unofficially-but-officially, shh. K'del is also early to this meeting, though less early than A'rist is; wherever he's been, he's done so in full formal gear, even down to newly polished boots. "Wingrider," he says, as the sound of his boots upon the stone floor marks his arrival. Hraedhyth is notably not on her ledge. Not when there are other dragons to visit and curl up with against the autumn fog. Some of that mist is tracked in by Azaylia's smooth stride, a murmur of a greeting given to both riders on her way out to the ledge. Lythronath is given a much warmer welcome, a coo and light scold before the Weyrwoman heads back inside. There's paperwork hugged against her chest as she looks from K'del to A'rist, watching with a gaze that borders between gentle and intense. She gives a little nod, before placing her reports down on the table, allowing the Acting Weyrleader to address the young wing rider. Lythronath knows the weyrwoman, knows her as, « Azaylia, » which he shares, cocky, to Hraedhyth, wherever she's at. Not on his leader ledge that is his. No. It's his. The bronze answers the weyrwoman's scold by opening his mouth enough to show those teeth, and push the side of his muzzle after the weyrwoman, clicking in his throat. Welcome to his leader ledge. Still his. Inside, greeted by his rank, A'rist is not so jovial, or self-satisfied, or playful, or anything. He just turns to face his (acting) weyrleader and stands up straight. "Weyrleader." And when Azaylia enters, "Weyrwoman." His face is pale, but at least he manages to avoid any embarrassing 'gulp' noises while he tries to divide his attention fairly between the two. K'del acknowledges Azaylia with a serious nod, then turns his attention back onto A'rist. He gestures towards the table - or, perhaps, more correctly, towards the end of the oval furthest from where Azaylia's set her hides, and from where he himself usually sits. "Do you know why we've called you in?" he wonders, as he moves around the table towards the Weyrwoman. "Or, at least, can you give it a guess?" Even Lythronath's peculiar brand of affection doesn't keep a smile on the Weyrwoman's face, palms resting atop the table as she watches A'rist. Azaylia opts not to sit, even if the young bronzerider chooses to do so. In a gentle tone that doesn't quite match her expression, "Honesty would be best." A suggestion with a hint of authority. The bronze stays happy. He bobs his head at oncoming dragons and struts and scrapes and generally carries on. Without A'rist. A'rist moves to the spot indicated by K'del, carefully, the quiet walk he's got so much better at since impression to Lythronath. The young rider opens his mouth, and closes it, avoiding an audible 'um,' though it's clearly what is mouthed. Then, his face goes paler. And he ducks his head a bit, and peers out at the two leaders, and asks, "Is it about that girl at the hold?" The look on K'del's face, so immediately after A'rist's question, makes it pretty clear that no, it's not about that girl, whoever she is; worse, it has him frowning, and casting a sidelong glance at Azaylia. "No," he says, after a moment, both hands resting upon the back of one of the chairs. "It's not about that. Though..." A pause. "No, we've had some complaints. A bronze, flying low. Scaring people." Mention of a girl has Azaylia's eyes widening some, making the flash behind dark brown even more obvious. Sharply, surprisingly so, "Is the Weyr going to have to compensate the girl and her... family?" Or family on-the-way? It takes longer for the Weyrwoman to let it go, but she does so with a quiet little inhale. Back to the voiced complaints, "As if the Weyr is sending out riders," or one in particular, "to spy on them." Because farmers are so interesting. A'rist's face is much the face of someone who has just discovered a pile of dung he's stepped in. So deep that it's up to his knees. "No," meekly, to Azaylia, whose eyes he doesn't meet. He's busy looking at - well, it would be his feet, if the table weren't in the way. "I don't think so, Weyrwoman." It's at least put colour back into his cheeks. Lots of it. That colour takes a while to fade, even when brown eyes are up, and comprehension has reassured him enough to put his shoulders back once more, rather than the forward drooping position they'd taken on. "I don't remember seeing anyone, sir," with a look to K'del. It's more apology, and still some disorientation, than a denial. "Well," says K'del. "That's something." If he's able to move on from that particular possibility a little quicker, it's likely got something to do with his own remembered youth... though of course his was abbreviated and never repeated. Honestly. "Clearly, someone did see, and was unhappy enough about it to raise the issues, and send it higher. Do you need a reminder, A'rist, that our relationships with the holds are delicate? What even were you trying to do?" What reassurance A'rist is able to offer has Azaylia's gaze relaxing, though it remains aimed at the wingrider. Much like K'del, her hands find the back of her intended seat, only to gently fold her hands there. "It doesn't sound like you meant to cause trouble?" A sliver of mercy dangled, prompting him to answer the Acting Weyrleader. "Whatever you were up to." It sounds so mischievous when she says it. It's only a little time, but enough that he can work some of it through his head. Enough that he can grimace and still look flushed and embarrassed, but also, just faintly, annoyed. "We weren't." That sliver is seized upon first, eyes wider now, looking to Azaylia to at least believe him. K'del gets something more carefully crafted, jaw more square, mature man to mature man. Even if one of those is only sixteen. "Lythronath gets worse if he's bored. The terrain there is rough, hard to skim. It's good focus." Back to Azaylia, but still the mature dragonrider persona, "That's all, ma'am." K'del. "Sir." As 'bad cops' go, K'del's not an especially terrifying one; something softens in his expression as A'rist goes on, though it twists, too, thoughtfulness and perhaps even bewilderment equally present, now. "So," he says, after a moment, after a sidelong glance at Azaylia, too, "The problem is that you're bored? He's bored. Have you discussed the problem with your Wingleader? Because," his chin inclines forward, "As much as I appreciate you trying to work things out for yourself, this can't happen again." An explanation involving Lythronath is likely the best excuse, honest as it is, to soften the Weyrwoman's visage. Azaylia catches K'del's eye in her own quick glance before easing back over to A'rist. "You realize how it must have looked to them? The bronzerider with his big dragon giving the 'little holders' a scare?" She presses, even though it looks as though that isn't the case. She turns toward the ledge where the infamous bronze is, although her words are for K'del, "I'm sure there are duties that can keep Lythronath's attention?" A'rist could argue that Lythronath isn't even that big of a bronze, despite those mounds of muscle and great big teeth and head. Probably, the little change of the angle of his head means he's even thought to. But he doesn't speak it out. And Lythronath carries on being the big dragon on the leaders' ledge. "It's not- even the wingsecond doesn't always seem like-" and then, simply, with head bowing for show, rather than shame, "No, sir. It won't happen again." He, too, is looking out toward the ledge, a little frown barely taking hold of his lips when Azaylia speaks. If A'rist's ears were more mobile, they'd have perked, head still down and all. He waits. K'del's, "I'll talk to Fayla and H'vier," carries with it the hint of a sigh; tired, somehow. He makes no move to glance off towards the ledge, not even with the example set for him by the other two. Instead, he lifts one of his hands from the chair, running it through his curls. "You can do some ocean sweeps, in the meantime." And, because that in and of itself surely sounds even more boring than normal sweeps: "Get him to fly close to the water without touching it. Try out the different winds. Keep an eye out for ships, and for pir--" He stops. "For anything untoward." "Have him look for shipfish." Azaylia offers with a shadow of a quirk to her lips, though it fades quickly enough. Unclasping her hands, the Weyrwoman reaches down to pluck up one report in particular, "I'll be able to calm the holders down, now that we know it was an accident." A quick, firm glance toward A'rist stresses that it had better be, "It'll help that they won't be seeing you two for a while." Not with ocean sweeps. For now, it seems the Weyrwoman is happy to leave it as is. Some dragons might be privy to, « Tasty! » A'rist certainly is. It makes him do his best to look steely, raising his head. "Yes, sir," has a glimmer of uncertainty, just on the edges. Fists he hadn't realised he'd made at his sides are relaxed, slowly. "This is going to be as well as the regular duties with Iceberg, though, right?" Remembering himself, "Sir. Ma'am," in turn. A nod confirms A'rist's words, though K'del adds, after a moment, "Except for sweeps, for the moment. At least until we can work out better ways to keep Lythronath... occupied. It'd be better if we kept you from any further temptation, especially while Azaylia is working her magic. Perhaps we might look at a different kind of drilling structure for you, too... to be further determined, I suppose." His smile is abrupt. "Glad this was so easily sorted, in any case. Appreciate your honesty, too, A'rist." Azaylia seems distracted by her paperwork, shuffling through and finding the right names and holds. It isn't until K'del speaks of keeping Lythronath busy, "You know Hraedhyth is happy to wear him out." She doesn't look up because yes, A'rist should know. "Either on the ground or by flying." When she does straighten, it's with a faint nod to K'del before A'rist has her attention, "Yes. Thank you. It's nice to know that it was an accident." Soft and genuine, her voice picks up once she's gathered the appropriate paperwork, "Now if you'll both excuse me. I have... magic?" A soft huff of amusement for K'del's choice of word, "to perform." Which explains why she and Hraedhyth are gone later today. A'rist's cheeks darken a little more, when K'del hits the word 'different', but he nods once, an action as militaristic as any salute, for all his hands stay at his sides. The weyrwoman's offer of her dragon just prompts a tight, "I know," from him, the broody look to follow one almost befitting one of his clutchmate's more than A'rist himself. On the ledge, Lythronath once again bugles his claim. "Thank you," is added, almost sheepish by the last syllable, for Azaylia. K'del's nod is dismissal, plainly, intended for A'rist and not for Azaylia, since the latter gets a rather warmer, if still serious, smile. He, of all of them, has apparently nowhere to go, despite the way he's dressed. But there's always, always work to do.
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