Logs:Negotiations
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| RL Date: 30 May, 2013 |
| Who: C'wlin, Telavi |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: C'wlin drops off a box to the infirmary, encountering Telavi. Hard bargaining ensues. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today. |
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| Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr The vast cavern has much the same odor of redwort and numbweed as the human infirmary, though here it's seasoned with coppery ichor rather than the iron of blood. It's also laid out similarly though on a much more massive scale, its walls lined with a number of places for patients, in this case large dragon couches recessed into the floor for ease of access; nearby cots provide space for riders. Tucked into the western curve is a huge circulating pool of warm water, by which are kept vats of oil.
Night gives birth to many things, namely of which is shadows. Shadows that flicker and move with the light of the glows, of starlight, even of the faint luminescence given off by ambient light. This night, a shadow detaches itself from the entrance of the dragon infirmary, shorter than most males, and carrying a large box. "This way?" Sharp, clear, perfectly enunciated voice with no shred of accent. That voice could only belong to one person: C'wlin. And sure enough where the glows finally reach to touch upon sharp, entitled features revealing the bronzerider's identity as he comes fully in to set down the box. The person he was speaking back too must not have followed. Telavi is spotted. "Telavi." Implicit question in her name. No, it's the other greenrider. Telavi nearly says it, it's written all over her face, even looking so tired and with that dark smudge on her cheek. Instead, with a lift of her chin, "C'wlin." Implicit statement in his. "What happened to you?" C'wlin allows exasperation to touch on the undertones of his voice when asking the question. Maybe he's been gone all day or maybe he's just late to the knowledge-party. Either way, he plans to make her explain. "The pirates raided the lake, and we stopped them but paid the ultimate price." Telavi can be such a mirror, and tonight it shows, down to that not so latent exasperation. The tail across her lap shivers beneath their voices, though, and for Solith at least, she strokes one irregular ridge with the pad of her thumb to make up for it. Expression hardens, lips thinning even further as C'wlin regards the greenrider. "Poor you," he clucks his tongue, shoving his hands in his pockets to march closer. Out of the corner of the eye, the shadows might just writhe like creepy little shadow babes. Not like the infirmary is creepy or anything. "Stuck in here for ten whole days since the pirates attack." Given how long ago the pirate event took place. "Or did a new wave of pirates attack?" That movement might catch at Telavi, but then she's carefully looking away from those shadows and back up to C'wlin, who gets to be taller than she is for once. "A new wave, of course. Who knew there was a secret tunnel down beneath the lake? They rose from it, ravening, reciting the songs of their people." C'wlin stares at Telavi. Judgemental Stare. "Muh-huh." He's in disbelief, being a harper and sensing a very long yarn being woven here. "Did they have glowing red eyes and sharp white, pointy fangs?" He steps closer, blue eyes less icy due to the warmth of the dim light as he purveys the parts of Solith he can see. "And that's how you came to be here." It's the sort of stare that Telavi has gotten very, very familiar with over the Turns. "No." She rolls her eyes and, after a glance back towards the counter, lowers her voice so it's not quite as easy for him to hear her, much less the dragonhealer. "White, blind eyes and pointy, blood-red fangs. Completely different." "Oohhhh," C'wlin drags this sound out, drolly, "Those kind of pirates. Why didn't you say so? We should sound the alarm. Wake the weyr!" He claps his hands, loud in the stillness of the infirmary, and twirls on the balls of his feet. "The weyr isn't safe!" Acting -- not a natural talent -- comes easily enough that he does a passing performance at terror and woe. Solith is roused, a flutter of sharp, fragile bones and even more fragile wings in the dark, her eyes yellowed. "Look what you did!" Telavi hisses, which can't help. She reaches to catch the tail that's swishing out of her lap so as to soothe the green, only her stare speaks more of an order than a lullaby, and Solith shifts that much more uneasily. "She's hurting. The numbweed only goes so far down." All fetters of acting fall away as C'wlin once more turns sharp-eyes on the green. "What happened?" he asks again, though this time stepping close enough to almost invade her space as he tries to get a look at just what's gone wrong with Solith. This gets Telavi a look askance as well, as if judging the greenrider's own ability to the truth. Telavi's just now rising, on one knee and then fully to her feet, clearly torn: get into his space to fend him off from seeing anything, or retreat to Solith and make it easier on her? It's too long a moment before she settles on the latter, and that unwillingly, abandoning the hides in favor of rubbing the base of the green's neck where it's safe to do so and not the slimy, greenish poultice that dulls a patch of what should be greener, not darker hide. 'Shh. It's okay.' It's almost inaudible. 'You're fine. You're good. Good Solith.' She might not bother with C'wlin, particularly not to give him a real reply, but maybe it's that mirror in play again. "There was an accident," she says lowly. "She'll be fine." "An accident." C'wlin is not considerate enough to immediately get out of the green and rider's space, but that is because he's busy inspecting -- with his eyes only! -- the poultice and the skin around it. To Telavi, "What kind of accident?" Like a feline after a small creature, he won't be happy until he has at least part of the story. He does however, lower his voice and restrict his movements to prevent from startling or disturbing Solith further. "What kind of accident do you think?" Telavi, acerbic, again probably not with the helping. At least the whirling of Solith's gaze has eased somewhat, and C'wlin's shift in demeanor must surely have contributed. Her tail doesn't lash now, but rather curls about her paws. And then suddenly Tela asks, "Why were you even in here?"
That. Telavi eyes it, cocks a brow at him, and gives Solith a last pat... right before wandering over to the box. "A present. You shouldn't have." At least, it will stay a wander if he doesn't try to intercept her. "Not mine, so if it bites, don't blame me." C'wlin is merely the messenger. "So if you open it, mind your fingers. I heard it moving when I was bringing it over." It could be a three-headed canine with dripping teeth and a spiked collar that minds the doorway to the underworld. Or it could be healing supplies. He doesn't try to stop her, rather, hangs back on the balls of his feet watching. She glances askance over her shoulder at him again, then crouches to pick up the heavy thing and carry it back to Solith. She doesn't work too hard at it, not after all the firestone sacks they have been dealing with, but when Tela's passing C'wlin she does make as though she's dropping the thing only to catch it again. Just to see how he reacts. Does he know? Is it breakable? All those months of work have paid off for C'wlin as well, giving him a leaner, meaner appearance; not the type to bulk up. "You break it, you buy it." That's his comment to her near-drop, brows once again raising as mirth settles on his features. "I don't know what's in it," finally stated, "I was just asked to bring it in here." Telavi wrinkles her nose at him for it, too. "Fine," she says, and sighs. And sits, settling the thing on her lap, and opens it up. A giant monster leaps out to eat her face off! (Not Really.) The contents of the box are really mundane (it wasn't locked); the thing is full of healer supplies, packed neatly inside the box. On top of the supplies is a soft, plush blanket that matches the ones the infirmary has. "Anything exciting?" C'wlin stays a safe distance away. Just in case, apparently. (Definitely not really. That's her job, remember?) So there's a box. A box of blankets... no, she lifts up the top to spot those supplies beneath. Telavi stares at it. Then she stares at C'wlin. "You really didn't open this? I thought you had more curiosity than that." While she's at it, "Who told you to bring it? And it's for... the infirmary?" Disappointed. "Why would I open it?" C'wlin questions, giving her a look. "It's just a box full of random stuff. It wasn't /that/ heavy and the person who gave it to me was a healer." Ah-hah! More of the story, exposed. "That's what he said; that it was for the infirmary." The bronzerider shrugs, laissez-faire-style. "It's not like a pirate walked up to me, parted with his golden booty, and told me to take it to the infirmary or else." Dry, dry, deadpan humor. It's almost hard to tell if he's serious or joke except for the outlandish choice of words. Telavi pushes out a sigh that's more like a huff this time, and she says, "But you wouldn't know that it's random stuff until you looked." While she's at it, and maybe it even has something to do with Solith's influence given how the green's now looking curiously over her shoulder, she starts rummaging through to see just what all is in there. "It's too bad about the pirate, though. That would have made for a more interesting story. Although probably, then, the medicines would have turned out to be poisoned or something... it's not a bad blanket, for something that has to be washed a lot." Once she's rummaged all the way through, she starts putting the items back. Almot all of them, anyway. "Poisoned healer supplies would be a very efficient and nearly untraceable way to do away with an area's denizens," C'wlin comments nonchalantly. "It would have made a better story, but alas, I must insist upon the truth," or at least the truth as he spins it, "and stick with the original story." Curiously, he also watches the greenrider sort and then re-pack the box. "Keeping the blanket?" It's a guess made as she's packing some of the stuff back in, "Or pilfering for your own healer supplies?" Not like he'd tell -- maybe. "Very harperly of you." Telavi says that so breezily, too, which makes the contrast between that and her offended-sounding, "No," so much greater. "No, this has to be durable for lots of hot water washes and that's great and all, but no. Besides, I'll need the redwort for taking care of her, and it's not as though there isn't another vial." She shows hm the one, the better to make him complicit, and the way she repacks the box, it all fits just right with it missing. Once it's closed, she looks back up, smiling. "It's too bad you missed the pirate excitement." "I wouldn't have told if you'd wanted your own supplies," C'wlin says, though it's hard to tell if it is the truth. With C'wlin the truth is pliable, pushed in the direction one wants rather than an immutable force. "It is too bad, that." Lips press together as ire surfaces enough that the touch of Crom comes to the normally accentless syllables. "I shall have to listen to the story from everyone so that I can write a ballad to the event." He could be fooling. "It'll be just as good as being there." Telavi slides the box to the side, but not fully: halfway between them, halfway not. She leans back, braced on her palms on the smooth stone beneath her. "Good luck with that," she says. The stylus in her hair has tipped, but goes ignored. "About those drum codes..." "I make my own luck," C'wlin quips, moving to sit on the now slightly lighter box. "About the drum codes... " Slow, sly tone comes with those words. "I heard they were used rather judiciously during the pirate's invasion." Ever so slightly. "They were." Telavi makes a face, then makes a smile, and a gleaming one at that. "My timing's rotten. If only you'd taught me before, I could have told you what they really said." As though one could learn them that quickly. "As though one could learn that quickly," C'wlin seems to echo that statement from THIN AIR. "You want to know how to decipher them, hmm?" He eyeballs her. "How badly?" Does he feel like he's got the upper hand? Perhaaaaaaaaaaaps. He side-glances at Solith before turning to turn that frank stare back onto Telavi. And smiles. Chesire-cat-like. That echo has Telavi's glance flicking sideways, like she'd be looking at Solith if only she wouldn't then have to turn her head. The dragon's no help, though, her gaze lidded twice over by now, and she might not even be listening. "Just like before," Tela says with a deliberately airy shrug. "How badly? Now that's a very good question. What do you think would be fair?" A smile of her own grows to fill her eyes. "Just how good were your grades, anyway? "I never do anything half-assed," C'wlin comments (not quite but almost darkly affronted), "So my marks were excellent." Not like he's going to explain if he had to work hard at it or not. "I suppose we could work out a... trade of sorts. Problem is, I'm not sure what you can offer. Give me your sales pitch." And now he waits, brows raised, expression expectant, ready for her to throw out her deals! "Never... ever." That smile becomes distinctly amused. "Ever." "You know, that's a really difficult question." Telavi's gaze slips lower. Lower. "Is that your bootlace undone?" she asks ingenuously, even as she leans and reaches, and it will be undone if she gets her hands on that knot. "Ne... woman what are you doing?" C'wlin finds himself with undone bootlaces in the little culprit's hands. The fact that he's not shaking her off speaks to reall good harper training or he's got a soft spot for his fellow clutchmate. Athimeroth tending to favor all the siblings from his dam the most! "It is undone!" Telavi marvels, and as long as a turn of her wrist wraps the cords about one hand, the other can dart for the other boot. "C'wlin, I'm surprised at you." She glances up. "I have a certain amount of expertise, you know. Professionally." Now, C'wlin is not a complete fool here. Speaking of something draws the eye and attention to it and so that other foot swings off to the side, perched as he still is on the box. It's comical, sitting there with one's leg sticking out. "Do you. What kind of expertise?" The steadiness to his tone does not give away that he's onto the fact that she's up to some shenanigans! Maybe not entirely what. Telavi's shrug is philosophical, the weyrling settling for what she's got, and if she's pleased... "Mmm." A firm, directed tug will place the boot she's got atop her knee, if he doesn't fuss too much, sole out where it won't smudge her trous. "All sorts of things, really. Have you noticed the fit of your clothes recently?" Leaner, meaner, and all that, or so implies her tone... even if he's gotten replacements from stores. Even if he's gotten replacements from a weaver master. C'wlin is just a touch distrustful of Telavi's motives, so for now she's got just the one foot. The other (non-Telavi'd) foot is placed back on the ground when she's pulled up the other one. The bronzerider is feeling a bit like a pretzel... "Yeah. They're all a little off, and I've not had time to replace a whole wardrobe." He squints. Waiting for more. Intelligent of him. Telavi pats the foot she's got, approvingly. Technically, she pats the boot, but surely it's more or less the same thing. Stay put, let her handle the laces. "Replacing wardrobes gets expensive," Telavi muses. "Even if you're shopping from stores, there's the fit to consider. Tell me, in your previous life, did you dress yourself? Or did you have someone else do that for you?" C'wlin eyeballs her. And his foot. Barely listening to what she's asking him. "What? Oh. I commissioned my stuff with the marks I made as a Harper." Which meant it took forever to commission anything of real value. "It's good quality," Telavi says, still with that approving tone of voice. "You might be able to have some of it remade, depending on how they handled the seams. So much depends on whether they cut corners to save a thirty-second here or there... I wish a thirty-second didn't seem so much on a rider's stipend." Or a seamstress's. "Of course, even when you become a full rider and can start... would you call it busking? people find it more impressive with clothes that fit." Is he listening to that? She's moved on, in the meantime, to checking the laces for any worn marks, the way the boot's tongue lies to see if it's symmetrical, that sort of thing. Very important things! Still dubious of the entire affair going on here, the bronzerider keeps one eye on what Telavi's doing an done ear on the conversation. "Mmm-hmmm," C'wlin is certainly listening to what she has to say. "I only pay for the best," he states, though it's less with height of fashion than with, "That way it lasts longer. Good quality doesn't have to be replaced that often." The side benefit is that he looks sharper. "What exactly are you hedging about? Are you a seamstress? A former weaver?" "Of course I'm a seamstress," Telavi says, and gives that boot tongue a yank. Better! Next, adjusting the folds of the top of the sock. "That's how I know these things. I thought you knew these things. How did you think I got my own jacket to shape so nicely, just an accident of stores?" As though he'd ever thought about her wardrobe. "Fit, fabric, all of that, that's part of what I know. Much like," and she has a quick, bright smile, "you know drum codes. To be subtle about it." "I never paid attention." C'wlin's expression is back to poker-face. So either he's lying or he's trying to hide how he never NOTICED Telavi's lack of fashion woes. "Well then, Miss Skills, I believe we've got our bargain. I could use with the tailoring and you desire to learn the drum codes." He pauses, squinting at her once again, "It'll be like last time. I don't do anything half-assed." It's his motto. For that, the smile Telavi's giving C'wlin becomes remarkably brilliant indeed. "For similar amounts of time," she agrees. "You might even have me study while I sew, which would have the benefit of... supervision." She even tugs lightly on each end of the lace in turn, lightly to even out the tension without playing tourniquet, and begins to shape them into tidy loops. She's in no hurry whatsoever. "I want to learn it well. I want to learn it, in fact, very well. The difference between last time, and this time, is that I'm not going to be tested in a sevenday." Unless the pirates, or someone, act up again. "What do you need to begin?" Other than his foot back. Look at all those teefs. So bright and sparkly they're entrancing. Maybe that's the reason for C'wlin's stare lingering on the greenrider's face. "I can agree to that. First, I will show you how to use the drums -- you can procure a small set of drums -- and then I will grill you on the codes. It's a lot of memorization." To her toothy smile, he adds his own, sharp incisors gleaming. How many times can one type teeth in one pose? Anyway, his own smile is feral, "I will be happy to supervise to ensure that both halves of this bargain are fairly exchanged." "I imagine it is. And fairness is important, I'm so glad you agree." With that, Telavi makes her teeth vanish, as though to prove she can, behind the far more secretive security of her lips. Not that it lasts, beyond that moment's proof. "As for drums, would a pair of upended bowls work just as well? The children appear to bang on them well enough," not to invoke further demons, "and if it's the rhythm that's important..." The shadows writhe -- or is it a trick of the light? -- at the mention of children. "Bowls will work fine. It's not fine music you're playing, it's a message. And the cadence of the message is more important than how rich the sound is." C'wlin leans forward, eyes falling to the laces. At the lack of teeth, it provokes one lift of one brow, but otherwise attention drifts to: "What are you doing to my boot?" It had better be a trick of the light, Solith stirring with a hint of unease for the first time in so long. The glowlight shines through the tissue-light sails of her wings, blurring, obscuring. Telavi glances up from... that's right, she was making loops, wasn't she. "Cadence. That's the official drum-my word, isn't it." The first set of loops go around twice before she snugs the knot up close. "Fixing it, of course. You're almost done." Little trolls could burrow out of the walls, seeking to scale the green hide to steal the dragon's breath as Solith sleeps. C'wlin's voice drops involuntarily -- or maybe he somehow senses the unease as the hour swings late -- when he asks, "Fixing it? What do you mean fixing it?" Rancor does not drip from his tone, but rather curiosity. A glance to the other foot before back to Telavi. Little trolls could as easily have sought to snag his lace, fling him on his face, trip him to the cold stone floor. "So things," all manner of things, says her own soft voice, "don't come undone." Again the loops, twice in the opposite direction, before again she secures it and calls it good with a proprietary pat. Tela glances up. "All yours. Until... tomorrow?" Girls will never cease to confuse C'wlin, but he takes it in stride -- or at least appears to -- as he retrieves his foot and stands. Clasping his hands behind his back, he glances off into the darker shadows of the infirmary and then back to Telavi. "Until tomorrow." A smile teases, but doesn't quite come to fruition (it's probably afraid of the teeth). "Try not to have anymore." Pause. "Accidents." With a tip of his head, the harper-bronzerider turns and walks his way out. Even though she can't see it, he's totally testing the difference between the one foot and the other. They'll try. And in the meantime? "Thank you," Telavi mentions after C'wlin, and she at least can smile far too freely in his wake, "for the redwort." With that, the glowbasket closes. |
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