Logs:Bronzerider Transfers
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| RL Date: 19 August, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, L'hai |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: L'hai transfers in. K'del is... mostly friendly. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 7, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions |
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| Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest. Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention. A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind. It's long been K'del's practice to spend his mornings in the Council Chambers - it's not only an ideal place to spread out and sort through paperwork, but it's also a better, and slightly less personal, place to conduct meetings than his weyr. Especially these days, when he's more or less sharing. Of course, he and Iolene share this space, too, but this morning, with midmorning rapidly heading towards noon, finds the Weyrleader alone, working through a stack of hides. His bronze is not high up on the rim as he often is; since the loss of Ysavaeth's clutch, he's been sticking close by his mate. Even so, there's not much that happens in the skies above his weyr that Cadejoth does not notice. If advance warning could be sent while Between, Cadejoth would know what's about to happen in his skies; as it is, the muted machinery roll and clamber of feet that is Kolniveth's arrival comes fast enough as if it had. Done and done, the opening day bells ring, as the towering bronze familiarizes himself with the bowl as if he's actually been there before, then deposits his rider without fanfare or delay. A puff of industrious smoke into the minds of those that would watch. L'hai, garbed neutrally in riding gear, still manages to rub a relieved hand over his chest like a weight's lifted. His approach is as punctual, slowing but when he's close for a distracted glance amongst the tapestries and trappings of the place; the hide on the table fascinating him instantly more than the man working them. "Weyrleader K'del. Duties to High-- well, Reaches. As it were." Down on his ledge, Cadejoth rises up from his curled-against-Ysavaeth position to note Kolniveth's arrival. His presence is marked in metal, too: the sharp clang of metal against metal, a probing chain that seeks to identify the bronze; satisfied, he returns to his earlier position. It's no doubt thanks to his bronze that K'del seems not even remotely surprised to lift his head and mark L'hai's entrance. He waits until the Istan speaks - leaning back in his chair, one hand curved around the mug of klah he's been sipping at slowly - to properly acknowledge him; when he does, it's in a low, faintly amused tone. "As it were. I'd offer our duties to Ista, but..." His head dips forward. "L'hai. Bronze Kolniveth. Welcome to High Reaches." Greetings done, Kolniveth's satisfied to leave Cadejoth to his business, whatever it was, and trust the bronze to mind his own back. Less open than the friendly, though constantly slightly befuddled, face his rider offers K'del. "Paid my last ones, ah, as I left." L'hai notes, a twitch of his lip not quite befitting the thread of rather fleeting nostalgia in his tenor. A tiny sway of hesitation, before several strong, confident strides forward, seeing him within K'del's arms' length. As he goes, his hand is tasked to shuffling a rolled set of papers from tucked just inside his thick jacket. They're kept tight with a precise, official knot in a strip of spare leather, which he undoes in order to separate a pair of papers from another pair. One is tucked into his palm while he offers the other to the Weyrleader. "Your copy." There's a quality to K'del's expression that suggests he's studying L'hai - certainly, the other bronzerider receives all of his attention, those other hides abandoned in favour of this new engagement. He reaches out to accept the set of papers, giving them only a cursory glance before they're set down to let him return his attention to the man. "In which case, I suppose we can call this official. But now-- sit. Talk to me a while. Rather know more than less about my riders." He waves a hand to indicate the nearby chairs, allowing L'hai the opportunity to choose his position. "What kind of Wing do you see yourself in? Diplomacy? Search and rescue? Can't," his smile is rueful, amused, "see you as a Glacier rider, admittedly." 'Official' brings a spark of life to the guy's eyes - which should tell K'del plenty - as he tucks his pair of papers back into his jacket neatly. Bidden, L'hai hovers, a hand on the back of a chair, indecisively before yanking the one /next/ to the one he was holding; he shifts it to squarely face the Weyrleader, then promptly drops his eyes, but not his chin, to scan the upside-down curiosities of the hides K'del has abandoned. Hands that've dropped onto the table palm first twitch the pointer fingers in a tap-tap-- "You," the eyes dart up, and a new light cast on his gaze abruptly makes it appear much more keen; he's studying, too. The tapping's stopped. "Have a wing just for diplomacy?" Ignore that grumble of adamant displeasure from the bronze he came in on, cause his rider does. "Ah, but..." eyebrows pinch lightly, "'Glacier' is a... Reachian reference, then." As in: I don't get it. "We have wings with different specialities," explains K'del, patiently, his expression showing only hints of his thoughts in the line of his smile (amused), and the jut of his chin (approving). "It's not all they do, but they get training in different areas, which makes them useful if we need a specific team for anything." The now-abandoned hides are wing reports, largely, though there's one that focuses on the current group of weyrlings; both things would be easy to discern even upside-down. "Glacier," he explains, continuing, "is one of our Wings. They're... work hard play hard types, I suppose. Exclusive, in their own way. Not really focused on anything in particular, without thread to worry about. But you're too... academic for that, aren't you." It's not a question. "Oh! Yes, Glacier the /wing/," L'hai fingers begin snapping before the revelation has fully reached his eye and, as it does, he leans back, "No, now I remember," which causes him great pleasure, even as he falls to a practical, not prideful, recitation, "Alpine, Hailstorm, Iceberg-- of course, ah, you know your own wings. Glacier. Middle rung, if it hasn't changed. F'rint. And, let'see, Oranyuth." From the upper jacket pocket, he procures a pair of thin-rimmed spectacles, explaining the slight squint in his eye whenever he alights on the hides. But though he rubs a thumb over a clean lens, that's all; they stay in his hands, un-purposed and almost absent. "Snowdrift. Reported less drills. See, I've come to miss a craft of mine. I'm a tanner, or-- I was. Or, I'd like to be. Conjugation aside, the record wasn't expressly clear on what it was Snowdrift was filling the time with, so my theory is merely that, but it seemed worth the inquiry. With your permission," his hand bends out, "of course. Though it goes without saying, I'd fill whatever position you'd have of me, Weyrleader-- " his lips pucker, "Funny thing, isn't that. To say it goes without saying, then to... /say it/..." head tipping back and forth, then his eyes go down, up, and he splays his hand over the table. "I'm sorry. Did you ask a question?" It may be a practical recitation, but K'del still looks impressed. Rather than say as much, outright, he merely inclines his head forward the once. "You've done some homework," he says, aiming for neutral but still sounding quietly approving. "Snowdrift. Ah - yes. They do some search and rescue, some diplomacy; a bit of this and that. A lot of their members do a variety of other things, though, and I can see how that might fit your interests. A tanner. That could be useful, I'm sure. I-- what was my question." His expression is rueful again, and still quietly amused; he shakes his head, letting it go. "I can certainly approach Mielline on your behalf. She'll have final say, but if it's what you'd like..." "Seemed right," murmurs L'hai, eyebrows slightly perturbed over his speculation that his homework is any more than par for the course. "Ah... Kolniveth has done some search before. He's a good, steady head for it. Probably keep him more interested than a purely intellectual venture, while simultaneously meeting my own interests. So. Yes. Yes, I'd appreciate that very much." Noticing he's thumbing at the glasses, he startles lightly, and replaces them with a gentle slide reverent to how new they look - and the rare item's general expense. K'del gives the glasses a thoughtful glance, but in truth, most of his attention remains focused intently on their owner. "Snowdrift it is, unless Mielline's got an issue with it," he says, scribbling something down upon a chalk slate that's set just next to all of his hides - clearly, a much more reusable method of writing notes to himself. "I'll send her your details and have her get back to you. There's a weyr assignment for you, too," he continues, sliding a bit of paper across the table towards the other rider. "Anything else you need, stores're open to you, of course. And--" He hesitates, giving L'hai a considering glance, as though he's debating whether to say something specific to the bronzerider or not. He straightens, leaning in to take the paper and skate it over towards himself to be peered at with that deliberate squint that has him pulling his head slightly back then in before he, apparently satisfied, picks the sheet up. Not off the table it goes, but between his hands, as he uses the edge and flat of the table both to set it into perfectly even folds. While doing, K'del's interruption lifts his head, and he pins the Weyrleader with a singularly attentive look. Fold, and flatten the crease. Strengthen the crease. Once, twice. His eyes flicker to the right, then return, with that deterring, undefined, mashing of the corner of his mouth. Sympathetic, "-- did you forget?" A pause from K'del, who has nothing to keep his hands busy, now that he's abandoned his klah and apparently forgotten about it. "Ah," he says. "No." No, he hasn't forgotten; that doesn't mean his brows haven't knitted, and that his pause doesn't continue a few beats longer. "Noooo... It's just. Well. There are those who'll say your transfer rather too nicely coincides our two young golds approaching maturity. And that Fortian bronzes have already begin nosing around; that you're just being more... location savvy. Just something you should be aware of." He's not - necessarily - saying that he feels that way himself. But his scrutiny is careful. "Mmmm," it takes the entirety of K'del's careful articulation for comprehension to register on L'hai's face, but it's full, suggesting a grip held on his reactions till each word was out. "Well, if it turns out to be some kind of spectacular timing, it'll be my first. Can't say I've ever been accused of putting myself /in/ that-- well, kind of way." Wry, and dry, amusement is self-deprecating at best, with the same practical resolve as when he was reciting lists. "Anyway, I am being location savvy, I'd think. Circumstances... leading to it," a flicker of sadness distracts him, as though the riddle of emotion has him briefly confused from his intellectual gain. "And I'm not, as it is, Fortian, am I." A rumble from beyond. "We're Reachian." His fingers unfold, one unfurling straight at the official document at K'del's side that says so. "So." There it is. It would be impossible to miss the way K'del is watching for L'hai's reaction, and although subtle, his short nod is not precisely well-hidden. "Reachian," he agrees. "Right. Well-- none of that's to say that I think this. Just that some might. There's... protectiveness. And uncertainty. You'll have heard about Ysavaeth's accident, her lost clutch?" He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't pause to wait for an answer. "Things are politically interesting here, at present. But I'm sure you'll do just fine. Ought to let you go settle in. Unless you've questions?" Some working of L'hai's jaw glides it open, then determinedly shuts it, loosens his lips, just to firmly press them. "No." Clear as crystal. Until, "Yes. That was a lie. But they're not questions to bother a Weyrleader with now, here. What with-- " there's a hand offering importance to the hides in front of him, "And all-- " and a looser gesture possibly encompassing the aforementioned Ysavaeth, and the general air of the Reaches - which he still sucks in like life blood. "I heard, and I'm sorry to hear. It's a-- " again, stopping himself, at the edge of his tone beginning to turn studiously curious; this time, with a hand that coils up to his mouth, knuckles digging into his lips like punishment as he works out of the chair and rises. All the adornments of his heavy riding gear clink and rustle, reminding that he hasn't even unbuckled a single thing. "None of that's... to say you don't either... ah, Weyrleader. So, my appreciation. Our appreciation for your welcome." A tight smile, but the suggestion is not that K'del's earned less of one, but that he simply expresses that way - and, with a short bow, excuses himself backwards. A quizzical line forms upon K'del's brow in the wake of L'hai's flurried and unfinished remarks. In time, however, he nods: just once. "Do let us know if there's anything you need," he ventures, after a moment more. "Welcome to High Reaches, L'hai. I'm sure we'll have opportunity to speak again." |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Mon, 20 Aug 2012 07:49:16 GMT.
I'm sure K'del's like "What the hell did I just unleash unto my weyr? >:l"
And... Welcome to High Reaches L'hai! :D
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