Logs:Boys at Breakfast
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| RL Date: 21 September, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, Weylaughn |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: K'zin meets Weylaughn and gives him unsolicited advice about dealing with the Weyrleaders and other things. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark. |
| Mentions: Aughan/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Giorda/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Pulhaun/Mentions, Yewlani/Mentions |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor, and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook. Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.
And it 'is' a fine, fine morning. Gorgeous, really. But it's not enough to fend off the growl of a certain visiting Holder's stomach. Weylaughn ducks into the Snowasis out of necessity - because Faranth only knows what they serve in the living caverns. He's soon caught up in the same dance that the bronzerider's engaged in: namely, spot a server, win a prize. Or get beer or food or what-have-you. The tip of his tongue runs out, his brow knots just a little, and impatience rapidly takes root. The young man gives it all of five seconds, then he's on the move, hunting down an empty seat to claim for his own. For Weylaughn's sanity, hopefully no one points out the open space where food is passed in from the Weyr kitchen, that selfsame place that feeds the living cavern for free. But maybe it's different, since one has to pay here. As it happens, one of the only servers on the morning shift is receiving payment from K'zin, and oh-look, an empty seat, too! Could anywhere be more inviting? It's definitely for the best that he's oblivious; the Holder's righteous indignation would be insufferable and swift. Weylaughn huffs out a breath, cuts a glance askance to the server that's on duty - and, oh! Convenience. It might not be the most inviting spot, but with no ladies sitting alone and nursing a drink, a bronzerider as a breakfast companion will suffice. "May I?" is accompanied by a tip of his head, a charming smile, and a calculated grab for the chair. If he's sitting by the time the answer comes, why- it'll be too late, right? Of course that's how it works! Just as pulling some marks out of his change purse and putting them on the table is also supposed to work - somehow. Maybe that's how it's done where he's from. That charming grin is turned on the server and, as soon as he gets that attention, he'll place an order for breakfast - and wine, naturally. "Sure," must be a bit of an automatic response from living in a Weyr so long as K'zin barely glances up to see who his breakfast mate will be today. He looks again once Weylaughn has sat down, the look isn't overly lingering but enough to take in the charming grin as he's ordering his breakfast. "On me," he tells the server. "You're new around here, right?" It could be that he's just never seen Weylaughn, or maybe he really is new, or maybe, just maybe, it's a line. Not one exactly designed to pick-up the other man, so much as start conversation somewhere. "K'zin," he offers over a hand that's been brushed hastily on his thigh. He had a napkin once, didn't he? He has to steal a glance under the table, but there's nothing there. The Holder's cocked eyebrow is brief, with his expression rapidly schooled into a far more comfortable and lazily smiling mien. "My thanks to you," is practically purred in that Cromese-with-a-twist accent of his. "I'll get yours the next go 'round. Ah- and something like that. I'm here as much as I can be, but trying to catch the Weyrleaders is rather like... well, trying to catch an oiled porcine, as Pulhaun would say." Apt, but it makes his nose wrinkle. The offered hand is given a bit of a look, but that look doesn't prevent him from readily reaching out to accept the gesture. "The pleasure's mine. I'm Weylaughn. From Seven Echoes Hold, but properly of Crom Hold." K'zin is agreeable enough to the suggestion of reciprocation, giving a nod-and-smile combo to acknowledge the holder's words. "Ah, yeah. K'del and Azaylia are busy-busy these days. Trouble out Tillek-ways, though Crom seems quiet enough. I think I've flown over Seven Echoes." But don't all holdings look sort of the same to a dragonrider in the air. "Not to pry, but what's your business with them? K'del's my wingsecond, I might be able to put in a word for you." His manner is congenial, even holding off on finishing his breakfast until Weylaughn's order arrives. If only he knew the control that takes! Food is delivered and Weylaughn's first act is to tuck into his glass of wine. "Mm, probably. It's a fairly small Holding, a bit out of the way - but the shadows of dragons cross it often enough." His smile twitches into a lopsided grin. "Though I can't be sure who they ride for. Hard to say. Ah." A few quick bites of food are taken when K'zin speaks and the Holder eventually answers, "It's about Crom, actually. Though, considering how some of the people here have been acting - it might be a waste of time." His expression sours and a sip of wine only does so much to settle it out. "I'm here to see whether or not High Reaches Weyr would want all of what's rightfully theirs again." Serious business time, in other words. He even has his serious face on. Well, the wine is close enough to eating that K'zin begins again while Weylaugn talks. It's like inhaling, but with food through the mouth. Thankfully, there's no need to exhale during the process, especially since his napkin has gone rogue! K'zin's brow is expressive. The wrinkles that form there are pronounced as he listens, with serious focus and interest. Nevermind that he's just as focused and interested in his breakfast. When he says the last, brows rise up in question, "I hadn't realized we were missing something we should rightfully have." But there's invitation in his voice. Do tell. "Tithes, mostly. Territory, in a sense." The phrases are broken up with sips of wine or bites of food, with Weylaughn taking his time to savor it all. "Though, it is strange to me that no one's willing to let me take even a glance at a recent tithing record to compare it with what I was able to get from Crom Hold," the young man muses. "So, all I can think is that if the tithes are short, no one here wants to know." He prods at biscuit with his fork and splits it, only to consider the soft interior with a seemingly contemplative look. "Although Crom is supposed to be splitting the tithes between the 'Reaches and Telgar - but it seems quite wrong that that's how it's being done." His words, to his credit, are rather well-measured. "But, I suppose, that's up to your Weyrleaders to decide - whether or not they feel they're missing anything." "Yes, well," K'zin's nose is wrinkling. "Records are pretty jealously guarded here, I'm sad to say. I often wonder what they don't want us to know. But I'm just a bronzerider, so, who am I to say when they keep us in the dark and feed us shit like--" He spears a caramelized mushroom on his fork and waves the fungus in the air before popping it into his mouth. "Maybe submitting your records to our headwoman or through the Weyrleaders will get you somewhere." The suggestion is casual, not really the words of someone terribly invested in the topic at hand, but neither is he dismissive. "I will say, if you're going to ply to them, don't look to their greed, I'd dare say neither has a greedy bone in their bodies. Appeal to their morality and the plight of their people. Two or three turns back, we had nothing but stew for nearly a turn because our tithes from High Reaches Hold and Tillek were shorted in the same turn." He provides the information with the same casual air as the advice. It's for Weylaughn to take it or leave it. "It's all for the sake of the Weyr," Wey replies with an expansive gesture of his hands. "I would never presume they were greedy; if they were, they'd have made their own moves to take what they wanted." The suggestions are, however, taken to heart. He nods to each in turn with utter seriousness, ending with a final, confirming nod - more for himself than the rider. "I'll see what I can put together. Retrieving the records themselves from Crom will be problematic, but I'm certain my mother's, ah- friends might be able to help. If they match up, so be it, but- frankly, Telgar shouldn't receive any portion from Crom." His opinion comes just before he takes the last bite of his meal. The final swig of wine is swirled around in his glass and lifted just a little. The glass is briefly tipped in his direction, rather like a toast, and the lad offers a genuinely grateful smile. "Thank you, K'zin. It's good to know at least one other person in this Weyr is willing to entertain the idea of improving things for this fine Weyr. Things are good now, of course, but they could always be better." "Suspicion is one thing, proof is another." K'zin comments after listening to all, though it's hard to say if he's advising again or just saying for the sake of saying as he reaches for his fresh mug of beer. Two drinks in one morning! Watch out! "What's in it for you, then?" The bronzerider's canting his head, looking at the holder with open curiosity and interest, and perhaps it is that beer and this second that doesn't have him asking more tactfully. Or maybe he's just a big dumb bronzerider. That's always a valid possibility in a Weyr! "That's why I'm trying to find out everything I can," Wey responds. "Suspicion doesn't settle well with me." His dishes are gently moved aside to be seen to and he settles back in his chair - which isn't saying much. He has a peculiarly proper posture, which suggests plenty about his upbringing. He seems to be sticking to the one glass of wine - odd, that! - but it also seems that his attention is starting to stray. He glances over his shoulder, lips pursed, before his attention returns most keenly to K'zin. Here, there's a strange moment of hesitation - the man might be proud, but he's also a quick learner when it comes to being bitten. He sucks his teeth before offering up, "Ah. Well, I'm the son Lord Aughan would prefer not to think about, that's all. Mother didn't approve of his treatment of the 'Reaches - and she was shunned for trying to intercede on the Weyr's behalf. We just want to right those wrongs of the past - it might take time, but... surely it would be worth it, wouldn't it?" The funniest part of it all? Is that he's not just serious, but he's earnest and it's a raw earnesty that would be difficult for a skilled actor to manage - and he ain't that. "That makes two of us," is a quick but fervent answer to the first before the other man sits back. Then K'zin is unconsciously mirroring him, beer in hand and grinning. "A bastard holdboy." He sums up and looks him over more properly now, "I can see it." Which isn't the same thing as saying he believes it. "You might want to come up with some more believable motives. No one believes anyone who says they're just doing the right thing, even when they are. And especially not here. Not anymore." 'Reaches: the place of cuddly feelz for everyone! A shoulder rises and falls in a lopsided shrug, while Weylaughn chances another look over his shoulder. Then it's back to K'zin, all seriousness again - even if it still sits somewhat poorly on his face. "It's a bit hard to come up with other motives when those are the ones I have," he protests with a furrowing of his brow. "I'm certainly all ears to suggestions, but it just seems that the best way to go about securing support and getting information was to be forthright. There's too much-" he gestures vaguely "-too much obfuscation," and that's his ginormous word of the day right there, "about everything, always. It's maddening." The line of his mouth tilts a bit and he levels his gaze at the bronzerider. "What would you suggest, if you were in my position?" "Seems obvious to me," K'zin answers after he chugs his beer. He scoots his chair back from the table and as he leans forward in a motion that seems likely to take him to his feet, he pauses. "You're seeking to legitimize your claim to Crom. Even if it would never happen, ever, it's more believable than doing the right thing. Pretend it's both, and people won't bat an eye." Then he's rising, "I'll mention to K'del that you're about and seem to have something worth his time, not that he'd think you weren't to begin with. Maybe it'll help. Good luck, Weylaughn." He offers by way of farewell, "I've duties to see to," before he's bending to snag up riding helmet from under his chair and snatching his custom-made jacket from the back of his seat and heading for the bowl. "Many thanks to you, again. You've been exquisitely helpful." Weylaughn pushes to his feet as the other man rises and rests his fingers on the table for just a few moments. "I will... see how best to work all of that together. Take care." And it's as K'zin's leaving that a newly arrived Istan bluerider pops in - just long enough to crook a finger at the lad and summon him out to tend to some manner of business or another. No rest for the wicked - or the foolishly earnest, it seems. |
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