Logs:Back Room Deals
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| RL Date: 31 May, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, R'hin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: K'del is seeking the support of Monaco's Weyrleaders in his ploy to oust Tiriana. R'hin plays go-between. |
| Where: Council Chambers, Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| It may be winter in the northern continent, but down south it's just coming onto summer. In the height of the day, most of the locals at Monaco Weyr have found somewhere cool to nap away the hottest hours of the day. Monaco's junior queen slumbers protectively circled around her clutch, with a familiar former High Reaches dragon, Leiventh, watching vigilantly over queen and clutch both. A few figures -- candidates judging by their knots -- can be seen sluggishly crossing the bowl on some errand or other. In the council chambers, where the Monaco Weyrleaders indicated they would meet the High Reaches Weyrleader, it is cool and mostly dark. It takes a moment for eyes to adjust: on the table rests a bottle of wine, still wet with condensation. And at the head of the table, a figure's seated comfortably, leaning back, eyes closed. Not the Monaco Weyrleader, certainly, but someone with whom K'del has crossed paths with in the past: R'hin. Former High Reaches Weyrleader. Current Monaco rider. He slumbers, or pretends to it so well it's all but the same. Cadejoth announced the arrival of the High Reachian Weyrleader pair a few moments earlier, trumpeting his greetings to the warm, summer skies and, more quietly, paying his more formal respects to Monaco. Now, the bronze has taken off to enjoy the shoreline and these foreign winds, during this brief respite from captivity (don't tell Ysavaeth); his rider, formally dressed despite the heat, makes his way into the Council Chambers - and then steps short. "R'hin," he says, after a moment's pregnant pause, allowing his voice to add a questioning note to the word, though he's careful to pitch it towards a point that might wake the man, but not startle him overmuch. No knot graces R'hin's shoulders, though it was a rare occurrence even when he did have rank to his name, so it doesn't seem like it's a deliberate choice. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, unbuttoned, and pants -- deliberately casual. "K'del," the Monacoan bronzerider responds in turn, eyes opening -- nothing of startlement in them, so much as a speculative, narrow-eyed gaze of evaluation. Lips purse briefly, and then a low-throated chuckle spills from him as he pushes himself to his feet, reaching out a hand to shake K'del's with effusive warmth, "Good to see you. Sit," it's an invitation, but it dances the edge of order -- not deliberately, just a manner of address that he's long accustomed to. He begins to pour wine, filling two glasses, before sliding one in front of the indicated seat. "The Weyrleaders," he says, with a slight, amused drawl, "Will not be joining us today, but I'm imagining you gathered that, given I'm here." His expression, too, is amused, well aware of his stature as Monaco's 'unofficial' solver of the more delicate problems. If K'del's eyebrows raise, it's only fractionally, for all that their message is so-obvious in his expression: he's not, perhaps, as surprised as he should be, and nor is he entirely put out. R'hin's casualness has him shucking off his jacket and draping it loosely over the back of his chair before he sits, fingers busily plucking at buttons to release him from such formality. "Your Weyrleaders are cautious," he says, aiming for light, though there's notable -- apprehension? Caution of his own? He's not quite as relaxed as he's aiming to be. "But understandably so. Imagine you know better than I could even tell, why I'm here." "Word gets around," R'hin answers with a shift of shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. "Weyrleaders talk. Ex-, too," he adds, with no small trace of amusement, fingers gesturing towards the glass in invitation as he slumps back into his seat with his own glass in hand. "You're looking to oust your possibly-crazy Weyrwoman." There's a subtle intonation on the 'possibly-crazy' bit, just enough to indicate doubt -- though whether it's on his own part, or his Weyrleaders' remains to be seen. "It's been done before, at your Weyr, even, though not quite so publicly." If it's disapproval in his voice it's faint, concealed with a long sip of his wine, and his contemplative gaze at his glass, "Good, Benden stock -- I always preferred that to the Southern whites. Too sweet for my tastes." K'del accepts the glass, using it as an excuse to delay response to the more serious parts of the conversation at hand. "Tillek wines, of course, never get a look in." There's still that faint Tillekian note to his voice, but his tone is more amused than offended, and if he doesn't especially seem to enjoy the wine - well, it's not really a secret that wine is generally not his drink of choice. He sets the glass back down, lifting his chin so that he can look more directly at the former-Weyrleader. "Never imagined I was treading new ground," he says, evenly. "It'll lose me my position, leave the Weyr in unknown hands, but - believe it needs to happen. Can't have a Weyrwoman who goes around breaking arms and backs, refusing to train her own juniors." R'hin's unapologetic: "I had to drink them, of course, when I was in your position. Pretend. But I always found them too tart. Another Turn or two longer in the barrels would've made them more palatable. But I could never say such a thing... then." Now? He feels free, and enjoys the wine, savouring it rather than swallowing it straight down. "High Reaches has always done well under strong Weyrwoman. I remember Tiriana, when she was still at Telgar. A little spitfire. Don't suppose by all accounts much has changed in that regard." If anything, the other bronzerider sounds amused, running a hand through his hair as he pushes to his feet in one smooth motion. Casually, he strolls around his chair and towards the chamber's entranceway, from where -- just possibly -- he can see across the bowl towards the sands. Leiventh's presence can be felt, briefly, in Cadejoth's thought: bitter chill, dark winds, having adopted none of his current home's climes so much as he has clung to that of his birthplace. "My Weyrleaders are nervous, of course. An exile Impressed a queen. No one wants that... unpredictability. If they were to support you, there would need to be... shall we say, some accommodations made." It's matter of fact; he doesn't bother to glance over his shoulder to see how it's taken. "My parents grow the grapes. Some of 'em. It's a hard position to be in, sometimes." He's content enough to let that topic drop, however, shifting in his seat so that he can straighten and look intent as R'hin continues. His gaze is examined, then set aside so that he can rest both elbows on the table, clasping his hands in the middle. "Ysavaeth has just risen; she won't be the next senior, if that is the concern." K'del sounds utterly sure about that, too, as though the ambitions of that gold pair have scarcely registered. Cadejoth, high above the weyr, knows that bitter chill, but denies it; he jangles his chains like bells at the other bronze, and shares, instead, the gloriousness of summer skies, and a quiet hint of pride in his eggs-- his are perfect, are yours? "What sort of accommodations do they?" do you? "Have in mind?" His tone is even. The news that Ysavaeth will not be senior doesn't seem to stir the Monaco rider's posture at all. "Still, her very existence remains vexing for those up above," R'hin makes a vague gestures towards the sky, or in the direction of the Weyrleader's ledges -- hard to tell which. Leiventh is not drawn by Cadejoth's contemplations: they are both Reachian-born dragons, so there is no contest, in his mind. While to be hatched at Monaco, these are Reachian dragons baking under the hot sun, under his watchful, protective gaze. Pushing away from the entrance, R'hin strolls his way back down the room, on the other side of the table, glass held loosely in hand. "We have a gold egg," he says, and it's impossible for even him to completely hide the note of pride, the twitching of lips as he gazes on the High Reaches Weyrleader. "Send your female candidates to our hatching -- it should be a matter of days, maybe a seven after yours. The queenrider, whether she be Monaco or Reachian, will return with you, be one of your juniors. It eases my Weyrleader's minds to know the chances of your exile queen ever being in power is reduced." A pause, then with a smile, "In return, we'll take the queen owed you by Telgar." K'del's silence lasts one second, two seconds, three: his brows knit, his thought processes almost audible through the sucking in of his breath, and then, that long low exhale. "I had heard," he says, finally, though he still seems to be thinking and is only filling the silence in. "About that gold egg; congratulations. You must be proud." Cadejoth seems pleased by this new idea: High Reaches dragons, his dragons, in a roundabout way, spread far and wide to such interesting places. Perhaps he, then, can also be proud of these eggs. He lifts his chin, watching the other bronzerider thoughtfully. "One might wonder if your Weyrleaders are hoping for a queen who rises early. After all, it could be turns before Rielsath's next flight." All the while, R'hin watches, and doesn't bother to conceal it. He isn't distracted by the pleasantries, and waves his hand briefly in dismissal: of course he's proud, that's a given, and not a subject he's interested in. He takes a gulp from his glass again, lips twitching upwards at the other's contemplation. "It's a possibility. But it could go either way -- I've always been a fan of the flip of the coin. Are you a gambling man, K'del?" He spreads his hand, and adds, "Besides, whoever the queenrider is will be raised and taught by Reachians. You'll have Turns to influence her before any of this becomes a possibility... and that will be made easier, without your current Weyrwoman's influence." "A friend has taught me dice," says K'del, dismissively, and in a way that suggests while he knows the game, he's not really a gambler - not in the way some are. His fingers reach for his glass again; taking a sip allows him time to formulate his reply, even if, as always, he doesn't really seem to be enjoying the wine. "It could leave us with four queens," he remarks, finally. "Should that one egg on our sands prove to be gold. That's a lot for an Interval, wouldn't you say?" It's his turn to watch the other bronzerider, but if he's aiming to seem blase about the whole process, he's failing at it: that quiet desperation is impossible to hide completely. He'll take the deal. Of course he'll take the deal. There's, perhaps, a hint of disappointment briefly visible in the former Reachian's gaze, though it doesn't slow him down at all. "A three in four chance of the senior never being one of the exiles is odds that my Weyrleaders like," R'hin observes, easily. He remains standing, but settles behind the chair on the opposite side of the table from K'del, fingers of his left hand resting lighting on the back of the chair. He knows he has the other bronzerider, and he doesn't work hard to ease his mind, intent gaze fixed on the other man. If K'del is troubled by this concern over exiles, that much he manages not to show-- though, of course, it can't really be an unknown, can it? His exhale, this time, is long and slow, and at the end of it, there's a fractional nod. "You may tell your Weyrleaders we have a deal," he says, quietly. "I'll arrange to have our candidates sent over to you in due course, after our own hatching. Some good, solid High Reaches women. And in return... I'll have their vote, when the time comes." There's a questioning note, somewhere, in that reiteration, as though he's making absolutely certain that this is the deal that is being agreed on. "Good man," R'hin approves, nodding, though it's all casual -- in his mind, it was a foregone conclusion. He tips his glass towards the Reachian, murmuring, "To new partnerships," before taking a gulp of the liquid. At the latter, his brow rises, a smile curving his lips at the request for certainty, "Of course. Monaco always pays its debts." He undoubtedly means more than just the ones earned in their gambling halls. "As a show of support, the Monaco Weyrleaders will attend your hatching. If I can, I will, too -- I'd like to see how my girls are getting on, and you know they never miss a Reachian hatching, if they can help it." There's a warmth and fatherly pride that almost seems odd on the lean man's features while he talks of Suireh and Riahla. "To new partnerships," repeats K'del, lifting his own glass in reply, his nod a minute one. There's something apologetic, almost, about his expression as R'hin confirms the deal, but he's reassured, too, and sounding significantly more confident as he says, "We would be delighted to have you there, of course. Our honoured guests, all of you." His smile is knowing, as the other man talks of his daughters; there's a fondness in his own eyes as he says, "My boys are much the same. Younger, of course. Much younger. But already dreaming of the day when they can Stand themselves." While R'hin's relish of the wine is obvious, he doesn't seem inclined to linger, once he's finished the glass, setting it down on the table. "I'd love the opportunity to discuss further ventures, but I have other duties pulling at me -- I'm sure you understand." He's as smooth as dismissal as he ever was as Weyrleader, stepping around to K'del's side of the table and offering a palm by way of, presumably, farewell. Smooth and unconcerned, his own glass not quite empty, K'del's reply is a simple, "Of course. Cadejoth and I must return home, in any case. Ysavaeth does not like him to be away from his eggs for too long." The gesture is matched, a firm nod offered, and then K'del is taking his leave - back out to the bowl, to where Cadejoth has returned for him. And from there? Home. If he's not smiling, well, he looks pensive, and perhaps even content. Perhaps it really will work out. |
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