Logs:Nabol Barn Toss
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| RL Date: 12 December, 2014 |
| Who: H'vier, G'laer, Rh'mis, A'rist |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iceberg follows up on a lead at a barn in Nabol where the thieves struck. |
| Where: Barn in Nabol |
| When: Day 8, Month 7, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm. |
| Mentions: Keita/Mentions, Zarmon/Mentions |
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| As soon as H'vier got word that there might have been a spotting of the thieves plaguing Nabol on a holder's property, Reisoth's deep baritone filtered out to various members of their wing. H'vier would pay them extra wages for a handful of them to join him, first come first serve. Once he has that handful, it's off to Nabol! It's the bronzerider and his wingsecond who speak to the holder, but the escort that they're given hesitates when H'vier nods for his wingriders to follow him inside. Notably, it's G'laer-the-wingsecond and not Fayla-the-wingsecond who was tapped for this particular detail, but who wouldn't want a former guard for this sort of work. He's even uncharacteristically chatty with the holder in a way that reassures the man of their duty and desire to see it done for the good of Nabol. He even thanks him for the permission to trespass through the barn. His smile (yes, smile) for the escort is easy, "Many hands, lads." He refers to the common saying. As is also common, after Reisoth's invitation went out, Teisyth's copper and nuts tang took a headcount to pass along. If Lythronath thought he was getting out of it, well... Teisyth, or maybe (more likely?) G'laer has other ideas. They're to come. Rh'mis is not a joiner. 'Nabol' is a good start, but even then... group activities? Group activities that probably involve a certain wingsecond he's really not cool with? Bleh, no. But. But. Ignoring a direct request from one's wingleader is... difficult for keeping a low profile; so they come. Still, Rhey's got his arms crossed as he follows behind the others, lagging in a way that speaks to teenage diffidence that he won't be allowed to claim for too much longer. Lythronath didn't want out of it. Lythronath was all over this. And is, now, a roar echoing out over the bowl before they blink between, and that same excitement conveyed, with intensity, if not word or image, through the mental link to his wingmates when they arrive in Nabol. A'rist... A'rist is unreadable throughout, offering very little in the way of communication other than simple answers, mostly 'yessir'. Lythronath does, in fact, not barge into the barn before permission is granted. Or when A'rist leaves with the other riders, although that warrants some ground-gouging that may or may not annoy some locals later. Fortunately for those present, H'vier doesn't actually seem to care who they are, except for maybe Rh'mis. Sorry, dude. That they're here is enough for him. The bronzerider is tense and doesn't seem as though he's in the best of moods. Not even his professional mood, so it's probably good that G'laer is capable of smiling and not sounding like an asshole. As they enter the barn, his orders are simple, "If they left anything, I want it found. I want them found." He glances back toward where he last saw the holder, who will probably be helpful in letting them know what isn't his. Since the hurried departure of the thieves with their bounty, the barn is a mess: bits of hay here and there, instruments and equipment upturned, and empty liquor bottles litter the floor, the smell of their former contents lingering in the stale, livestock-scented air. There could be something here, amidst the disorder, but it might take some time and a keen eye to find it. Teisyth, with her brothers; this is the best day ever. She will happily play distraction for the ground-gouging Lythronath if she'll have him, and just maybe Rosvelth can tell them a story. Surely he knows one? G'laer's focus is on a more professional bent (everyone who shared a barracks with him can take a moment to be grateful). He pauses briefly by H'vier to murmur a quiet word before calling to, "Makita," and he's nodding his clutchmate (funny how most of them are his clutchmates here in this assemblage, hm?) to accompany him toward some of the upturned equipment. While they're here, they might as well help restore the barn to some order; it's the neighborly thing to do. S(k)ulking is something Rhey does pretty well; one of the last to enter the barn, he sidles off to the side almost immediately, wandering up the ladder towards the hayloft at first opportunity. It's... totally helping, right? Work. Serious business. Straw and dust rains down from the ceiling as he reaches the top, taking a few steps towards the middle. Up here, out of view, he can look without appearing to look. Win, win. Rosvelth is full of stories; they're heroes, this group. It's awesome. Everything is awesome. Lythronath looks past Teisyth, lifting his head, scenting at the wind. A'rist stops just inside the barn, his posture mimicking the one his dragon takes. He sniffs at the air, unconsciously. He cocks his head, listening. He turns a half-step, gives one look to H'vier, and then G'laer, each, and turns, slipping past the holder and leaving the barn. It's the outside of the door that gets his attention first. Visual attention. His hand, that goes to rest, lightly, on the handle of his belt knife. Reisoth doesn't interfere with the clutchmates, busy enough on his own as he observes what he can from the skies above, where he's taken to flying a wider circle around the area. He could probably ask for help, but it's probably likely that he doesn't think that would be worthwhile. H'vier isn't paying much attention to his riders, expecting them to do what he brought them here to do while he does the same. He's definitely not just going to play supervisor. He wants answers. (To Rh'mis): What's that? Besides the creaking sound those boards are making from the extra weight in the hayloft. Weak sunlight, coming through the slats in the roof, glints off something shiny under all the extra hay. Oops, it's just another empty bottles. (To A'rist): A low-lying shrub on the side of the barn wears a brightly hued scrap of cloth, possibly ripped from its victim, but more curious is the tipped-over wheelbarrow towards the back of the barn. There's even a small sack of flour, spilled, on the ground. Spoils of war? (To G'laer): Upturning heavy equipment and hanging shovels back on their nails is tedious work, and it becomes more tedious when there's manure readily at hand to step into. It appears as though someone dropped their handkerchief in one of the piles; it's a frilly thing with the letter O stitched in harper blue threads. Up in the hayloft, Rhey may well be simply standing still; there's no more dust falling, no straw or hay. He's not, though: he crosses towards the other end, inspecting something beneath the straw. Whatever he finds, it's disappointing; he wanders back, poking idly at the slats of the roof, at bales of hay. Boring. That sniffing of her brother's has Teisyth abruptly interrupting Rosvelth's story for her to ask urgently, « What is it, Lynner? » Is Little A'rist stuck in a well?! G'laer's assistance to Makita gets a couple piece of equipment righted before she's handing him a scrap of cloth which he looks at before turning to approach H'vier to pass off the frilly handkerchief with the letter "O" stitched in harper blue. "Lythronath." It's a whisper, barely making it into sound. The bronze, who had been made to wait farther down the pasture, now hops to his feet, eager. « Eyerist, » is given to Teisyth as explanation, the two words conflated into one, not-so-verbal bronze's focus elsewhere. Nearer, his keener vision is put to work on scuffs and scratches on the door. It's barely any time at all, after the assisted inspection, that A'rist turns away, moving along the other side of the barn. Lythronath snorts disappointment, keeping his distance (with some annoyance), using angles to approximate closeness. See? Not just a big dumb brute. Entirely. All the time. (To H'vier): How can anyone see anything with all the hay littering the barn floor? "Rh'mis!" It's kind of yelling, but H'vier is in a mood, so it's probably not personal. He calls a couple other names, too. "We need to clear some of this crap," the hay, "out of the way. But we need to make sure we aren't fucking up whatever might be under it." That he'll apparently let the underlings do without his help. When G'laer brings the handkerchief to him, the bronzerider arches a brow, but turns to look for the holder. Is this his? Rh'mis isn't here anymore. He's... okay, no, he's here. Idling. Skulking. Reluctantly, moodily, climbing back down the stairs. "Just bottles up there," he says, turning a glance on the holder. "You running a still or something?" He even sounds truculent; clearly a winning example of High Reaches' best. Rosvelth, his story interrupts, sulks too. Worst. Day. Ever. The holder crosses his arms defensively and starts to huff, puff, and shuffle his feet when H'vier implies that such a frilly thing could be his. Not as quick on the uptake, one of his companions nudges him and points, "Weren't you just lookin for that yesterday?" A belligerent stare from the first silences the second. Perhaps it does belong to him, after all. It's hard to say who spots the bit of brightly coloured cloth first; A'rist and Lythronath turn almost as one to the little shrub that has snagged this piece. A'rist scans the area, and Lythronath sniffs and shuffles his wings, before the rider is willing to bend and seize the scrap. He lifts it to his nose, and then, carefully, pockets it. His other hand has yet to leave the hilt of his knife. As his bronze once again changes his angle in relation to the barn. Around back, an upturned wheelbarrow sees its environs given the same inspection. Lythronath jumps into the air when A'rist drops to a crouch, and gathers a bit of powder on his fingertips. Sniff. Tip of the tongue. Yup. Flour. (To H'vier): Someone kicks one of the bottles and sends it flying, shattering, against the wall. It draws the frowns of the holders, but curiously enough, there's something white over there where it crashed, crumpled up and under the hay. H'vier might have preferred that it wasn't the holder's, but since he says that it is, the big bronzerider gives it back to G'laer and gestures for him to deal with returning it to the holder. Or to delegate further. A kicked bottle shattering against the wall draws his attention and a sharp word to be careful, Rh'mis! Even if it wasn't him. Something white holds his attention there, though, and H'vier crouches down to pick it up out from under the hay. (To A'rist): A shape moves at the back of the barn, just a blur, but the "shit" that follows a crash is definitely not a blur. Rh'mis' glance back at H'vier is murderous; fuck you, it says, even if he's smart enough - this time - not to say it out loud. Instead, he'll poke at things with his foot, wandering around the edges of the barn. Helpful. Very helpful. Still in that crouch, A'rist's head snaps up at a crash and curse. Then, A'rist himself is up, is on his toes, is running, trusting his eyes as much as his dragon's. « HERE! » bellows Lythronath to all the rest of the wing, unable to keep back an actual roar, on the wing only so long as it takes to hop the barn, in pursuit along with A'rist. This searching business wears on the holders, and have a couple of them squirming while they're watching the dragonriders see to the searching. One, disagreeing with the way Rh'mis is going around wandering around the perimeter. "You're not even looking!" he accuses, much to the dismay of his peers; starting a confrontation with the search crew isn't the best move. (To H'vier): Keita, I cannot say how long it has been since I last saw your face, and I yearn to hold you in my arms once more. Not a day goes by that I do not remember our parting. I would do you a great disservice if I did not fulfill my end of the bargain, but I will come for you soon. Yours Forever, C. Iceberg's wingleader uncrumples the note that he's found in the hay, frowning as he reads it. "Who is Keita?" he asks the holders as those he expects this, too, to belong to them and not the people he wants to find. H'vier doesn't seem much concerned with Lythronath, but Reisoth is rumbling impatient displeasure at the younger bronze. « What? » Outside, at the back of the barn, a short, gangly youth is trying to disentangle himself from the rope he tripped over, then starts crawling backwards on his hands when he sees A'rist advanced. He will, eventually, stop and throw up his hands as if to surrender. "I only did it once!" he screams at the on-coming dragonrider, like that, what it is, will absolve him of whatever punishment is about to be eked out. "Fuck you," says Rhey, turning on his heel to stare down the holder in question. "I don't want to be here anyway. I quit." Maybe the fact that other people seem to be distracted by actually finding things means that no one will notice him stride so very purposefully out of the barn. "Keita?" the closest holder queries, glancing to his cronies. "Don't know no Keita." Another speaks up with a tremulous voice, "Yeah, y'know, that's, uh, Zarmon's brat. That girl with the.." An obscure gesture has them all talking at once until the one holder, whom the barn belongs to, shushes them so he can answer H'vier's question. "Keita's Zarmon's daughter, holder over at Greenway Hold." That should suffice, right? Meanwhile, the holder who challenged Rh'mis is steady glaring as the brownrider leaves, and then turns an accusatory glare on H'vier. G'laer was dutiful in returning the handkerchief, and with a single silent look to H'vier, he turns to pursue the moody almost-not-a-teen out of the barn. Misery to commence shortly. Dutifully. « GUY. » Behind the barn, Lythronath roars again, roars directly at that youth whom A'rist is on top of, all at once. The good news is, it's with his dominant hand that A'rist reaches for the kid's shirt, and so has released the knife. The bad news is, his other hand goes to try land a punch before those two hands can switch places. At least the bronze isn't actively helping? H'vier probably has his own ideas on how to deal with Rh'mis, who was supposed to be helping him, later. For now, he's busy with the holders. "Who does she know whose name starts with C?" Because obviously these guys are going to know everything about this girl. « If he's important, he needs to be able to speak. » Reisoth doesn't really care about hurting the boy, just that he can be useful if he knows anything. Does the guy even have room to breathe? He does try, stuttering through words while he's getting punched. "I'm. Sorry! It was. One. Time." Who knows what that means, but he's throwing up his hands, trying to keep his face from being pummeled. "Shit if I know," the holder puts it, so eloquently, shrugging his broad shoulders and looking around at his compatriots. A'rist stops. Eventually. And gets both hands on the collar of the kid's - the other kid's - shirt, and just holds. Pins. « Fast, then, » Lythronath councils Reisoth, with far too much joy. H'vier rumbles something that must serve as acknowledgement to the holders as he moves to make his way out of the barn with a few people left behind to continue the searching and making sure everything is put back to rights afterwards. « Figure out what he knows. » If they're going to catch things (people, whatever), they'd better figure out what to do with them. « A'rist can tell H'vier what he learns later. » And what A'rist will figure out, when he calms a little more, and when Lythronath has stopped bobbing his head and flitting his wings and snapping his teeth... is that someone else had better do the questioning. But detaining? That A'rist can do. And does. |
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