Logs:Called Out
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| RL Date: 6 December, 2014 |
| Who: H'kon, K'del |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: H'kon wants to know why K'del has done nothing about Teris. |
| Where: Weyrleader's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Madilla/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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>---< Weyrleader's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#1716RJL) >-----------------------<
Rank certainly has its privileges, and among them are amply appointed
apartments. The short flight of stairs from the Weyrleader's Complex opens
up into the larger of two chambers, formally decorated and clearly
designed to cater as much to important guests as the occupant's personal
living. Old, but obviously expensive, llama wool rugs dyed blue-and-black
cover the stone floor, leading towards the second chamber, the stairs, and
the rush-filled dragon couch and ledge beyond it. A formal seating
arrangement - a sofa and chairs, all blue-and-black - sits around a large,
tiled fireplace, whilst along the other wall, a finely made, if now
somewhat antique, desk sits between a bookshelf and a tall cupboard to
which tack-hooks have been attached, riding gear arranged neatly inside.
Two tapestries hung from the high walls depict overdone splendour for High
Reaches Weyr, one a long view of the snow-covered bowl, and the other a
hazy impressionist piece of dragons flaming over a springtime countryside.
The inner weyr, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area,
is smaller and cosier and distinctly less ostentatious. An oversized
wooden sleigh bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with
overstuffed down pillows and comforter, their covers dyed in varying
shades of navy blue, light blue and bronze. There's a nightstand on either
side, both with reading lamps, and against one of the other walls, a tall,
heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing
area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and
slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small
shelf holding toiletries, shaving equipment, and clean towels.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
H'kon M 35 5'4" compact, brown hair, green eyes 4s
K'del M 34 6'4" Slender, Toffee hair, Baby Blue eyes 0s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Complex Ledge
>------------------------------------------< 15D 6M 36T I10, summer dusk >---< To Cadejoth, Arekoth carries the same tension that has drawn many a dragon and rider that much thinner since the keening for Iskiveth. It's in the thinness of the wintry air that comes with his mental touch, and the intensity of tone, if not volume, of his voice. « Cadejoth. Where's the Weyrleader? » « At home. » It's a prompt answer, carried with a similar tension; this, none of them can forget, not yet. The bronze, he's up on the rim, again, keeping watch over his Weyr as if this might prevent further tragedy. « You're expected. He is. » (To Arekoth from Cadejoth) The only answer given by the brown is the slightest hint of motion, a change in the chill, as he leaves his low-lying ledge. They were ready. They arrive promptly. A nod from H'kon clears Arekoth to join Cadejoth, where a spot that once was a simple favourite now hosts something near a vigil. And H'kon, he moves with quick, short paces into the weyr, opening his jacket, and greeting the Weyrleader with a curt nod and, "K'del." "H'kon," is the answer, made promptly from K'del's position on the couch, his head turned to acknowledge the brownrider and welcome him in. Although there's rumour of K'del's reaction to Iskiveth's death, there's no sign of it now: he's sober, solemn but without dark shadows to mark sleeplessness, and the weyr is tidy. "You needed me?" Cadejoth's content enough to share his vigil; two now, to watch, is two eyes more. H'kon did; K'del's question is answered with a short nod. There's a moment, barely a moment, in which H'kon seems to search, eyes darting not to look at anything in the weyr, so much as a sign of his gathering his thoughts. And they come out bluntly. "Iskiveth went between. Her rider was left behind. The healers have kept Teris here. And you," now, the slightest inclination of his head, advanced apology, "have said little." K'del makes no effort to hide his wince; he looks away, staring into the unlit hearth for several long seconds before: "The healers who don't, for the moment, include your weyrmate." It's not like it needed to be said, but perhaps it gives K'del something to say, while he composes his thoughts. Once upon a time, it might've been easy for him to explain; now, even when he manages to glance back at the brownrider, it's clearly far from that. "Politically," he says, "we can't afford to upset the healers." "The Weyrhealer," H'kon corrects, his tone firm, a little twitch jumping at the corner of his mouth. That brownrider, of course, has given K'del no quiet moment to gather his thoughts. He's watched him the entire time, the same sharp gaze that his lifemate now directs out over the bowl. But focused. "Has the Healer Hall sent word on this matter?" "The Weyrhealer," agrees K'del, struggling to straighten his stance, smooth his expression. A shake of his head answers the question. "Not yet. But Telgar will... push. As they should. It shouldn't happen like this. Ever." Perhaps H'kon can see the way K'del's hands have balled into fists, alongside his legs. "Politics should never come before a person's wellbeing." There's a hint, there, in his tone, of absolutely self-loathing. "Not yet," repeats H'kon, those eyebrows moving together and down, incrementally. The furrow grows, and the wingsecond remains silent for a time, chin twitching as if nodding, or about to talk. At last he does the latter. "Do you mean to wait on politics?" There's an edge to that, a hint of accusation in the specificity of the reptition which, under more regular circumstances, might not have been. K'del, immediately defensive, opens his mouth to argue-- but then he stops. Tiredly, "What would you have me do, H'kon? I can't even bear to visit her. She was my friend." Once. A long time ago. "We've registered our displeasure to the Hall, too. His contract won't be renewed." It's a roundabout way of admitting that yes, to his shame, he doesn't know what to do but wait on politics; and it's eating him alive. H'kon has an answer for that, rhetorical though it may be. It's there, caught behind the sudden clench of his jaw. Sudden, but lasting, again, the time it takes for H'kon to set each new bit of information into the proper category. "Is there anything more? Any other reason that Madilla has not been recalled, that you've not challenged those healers in your Weyr who would continue this?" He doesn't outright say, 'this is important'. But the eyebrows do. This time, K'del stands, clenched fists so obvious, now, held stiffly on either side of his body. "I don't know where your damn weyrmate is," he answers, spitting out the words one after another; the redness in his face going a long way to highlight his upset, as if his tone weren't enough. "And that damn healer already refused Telgar's weyrwoman. I'd kill her myself, if I could, but I can't. It can't come from me." And maybe K'del can see the way H'kon clenches a fist at his side. But there it stays. His nostrils do flare once, twice. But H'kon takes the time to settle, leaving K'del, and his redface, a moment to themselves. "Then from whom." If only K'del was omnipotent and could say, at this moment, 'Well, your step-daughter seems to have it in hand.' But he's not, and he can't. Instead, he exhales a ragged breath, closing his eyes. "Anyone," he says. "Anyone who doesn't lead this Weyr." Anyone who isn't him, cop-out though that is. To that, H'kon simply grimaces. Both hands are now clenched into fists; the release, and stretch of fingers, carries more tension than those fists had a moment earlier. "I have some idea where she is." His eyebrows twitch. "The Weyr is yours. Its riders, also." "Find her," says K'del, simply, dropping back to his seat. "Help me make this stop." It could be a plea. For once, H'kon's face does change. K'del is considered with a lip wanting to curl, with eyebrows that turn into something almost sympathetic, or perhaps saddened. It's not cut off with a nod, not regulated. It's with that expression that the brownrider turns, wordless, even as he dragon drops from the rim, wings opening. K'del has nothing more to do; he just buries his face in his hands, hiding away from the retreating brownrider - and no doubt everything else, too. |
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