Logs:So Much Trouble
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| RL Date: 12 November, 2009 |
| Who: K'del, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Crom Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Browden receives a visit from two High Reaches riders. W'chek is never allowed to come on diplomatic missions again. |
| When: Day 13, Month 3, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
| « Tell yours to clear his afternoon and meet us in the air, » instructs Cadejoth, just after lunch on Day 13 of Month 3. « We're going to Crom. » /He/ seems perfectly excited about this, mind full of wind and rain the freedom of the skies; isn't it exciting? He and his rider can, in short order, be seen lifting off from their lower bowl ledge and sweeping upwards into the rain-filled sky, the human part of the pair hunched over against the misery of it all, ignoring the revelry of his dragon. This may well be better than drills, though. Or sweeps. Depends on the weather at Crom, really. It can't be worse than the weather of the 12th in the High Reaches area, and as W'chek has not yet caught pneumonia, one might surmise that he'll certainly survive. At least today he seems to have tracked down his rain gear. « We shall be there shortly. » Zhikath takes just a little longer to take for the air with his rider on board, perhaps similarly huddled. « We are prepared, at your signal, » the younger bronze notes when he rises as well, water streaming off of him. No hint of misery at the weather from him, but no excitement, either. It may not much enthuse K'del to have to wait, even if it's only for a little while, but Cadejoth? It's possibly the best thing that has happened to him all day, or so you'd be forgiven for thinking, given the way he darts and curves through the skies. At least, in deference of the weather, he doesn't try anything /too/ risky, though perhaps if Zhikath and his rider hadn't shown up right then-- at any rate: he slows, as they do arrive, projecting across the specific visual for where they're going, then adds, « K'del says we have to stop and look at a fence on the way. But: ready, ready, ready! » And he's gone. To Crom, where there is, in fact, no rain. Zhikath emerges in the Crom sky just a moment later, shedding droplets into the air as they come into the dry. « A fence, » he echoes drily. But his is not to ask the reasons why. He simply follows, and once into the clear air W'chek straightens in his position, starts pulling back that rain gear to get a better look at the surrounding area. Only then does the question get relayed, « W'chek would like to know, why a fence. » A 'what?' gesture with uplifted palm follows that. It's already stared to thaw properly at Crom, and the fields below are distinctly muddy as a result. Cadejoth circles lower over what must be the fence in question, agreeing, with enthusiasm, « A fence! Not sure why, though. » He's forgotten; he doesn't much care, either, it would seem. K'del's gestures unconsciously mimic W'chek's in the pulling back of rain gear, though in response to the uplifted palm, he simply inclines his head forward. Evidently, this means 'we're going to land', because that's what Cadejoth does a few moments later, talons sinking into squelchy ground. His rider dismounts, walking straight for the fence. The other's landing comes with a prim near-distaste. Zhikath would have chosen a place that wasn't quite so squelchy--but that's what there is, and so he sets down next to Cadejoth. W'chek pulls himself down in short order, revealing the reason for it: "I thought you were going to find somewhere I wasn't hip-deep--no, I know it's not actually hip-deep, thank you." He steps through the mud after K'del. "Why," he asks, as though the question ought to rank higher than the task at hand, "are we looking at a fence?" Carelessly ignoring the fact that his nice, clean trousers are getting covered in mud, K'del doesn't stop until he reaches the fence, where he places one hand upon a fencepost. Turning, then, he explains, "Had a report from one of your wingmates that she thought the fence along this boundary had moved. Said it was hard to tell, because of the snow and everything, but-- she was concerned enough to mention it, so it warrants checking out. Want to see if there's any evidence of anything." It goes without saying that, right now? Cadejoth is heartily enjoying the mud, too. Squelch. "And you think we ought to go meet a Holder covered in mud." Not a question. W'chek does his best to stay out of it, putting each foot down with so much care he looks like some sort of burglar as he finally comes up to the fence. "Fences don't just get up and walk around," he also protests. Then he stops, looks at it, pauses. "Without help," the amendment comes after a moment of staring at it. "Do we have the original survey? Are there landmarks to go on, or I dunno, something?" Not a question, but a statement that, certainly, makes K'del glance down at his trousers. "We'll just have to clean off a bit before we head there. If there's anything to find, I want to know before we talk to him." He steps up onto the lowest rung of the fence, then climbs over; once he's crossed, though while his feet are still positioned on the fence, he leans himself against the taller post so he can draw from his pocket a smaller version of the map. "Without help. Right. That's the thing. Been some... suggestion that Browden might not be up to anything good. Trouble with the map is that," he indicates around. Not many landmarks. "Sure he's just trying to make ends meet as best he can," W'chek is quick to dismiss this, again. Holder's word versus K'del's word and evidently the Holder doesn't even have to be here or someone he's ever met to creep up in his estimation. He leans against the fence himself, then eyes the area around. "Has to be something, how they measured when they did the survey. However far at whatever distance from fairly permanent marker. Big rock or something? We had that, we could just lay the lines down again." Pause. "Or just see if there are holes where the fence posts used to be, but in this mud--" Well. "Buying a whole new set of farm equipment?" K'del's quiet words are suggestive of, perhaps, that that might not be strictly 'making ends meet'. But that doesn't mean he doesn't nod along to what W'chek is saying. Instead of adding more, though, he spreads out the map and glances over it. "Right. Was hoping there'd be holes, but... guess they're not likely to be there anymore. There's ridges, though... maybe we can count hills?" He turns his head around, gazing off into the distance, where Browden's hold is. "There's not much on the map, though." A dubious noise. W'chek eyes the fence posts again, tries to wiggle one of the rails experimentally. "Doesn't necessarily mean much. Imagine new equipment must be necessary sometimes. Maybe he had a good turn, last. Maybe his is just at the end of being fixable so this is when he absolutely needs new." Maybe he can just keep coming up with excuses all day long. He stands back to look the distance down the fence. "How far off did she think it was? We talking a serious way, then?" It does wiggle. Not that that proves anything, except that it's not the best made fence ever. "Mm," says K'del, noncommittal. "Except that you'd almost never buy it all at once, and anyway, it's been said that his was in relatively good condition. But how can we know that for sure?" W'chek's comments seem to have given him some more doubt to work with, enough that he shrugs before answering the last question. "She wasn't sure. The snow made it really hard to gauge, and she wasn't even sure if she was remembering right, I guess? So it could just be nothing." He sounds relieved, actually. "Been said. I dunno. Folks gossip, it's what they do. Wouldn't put stock in it." W'chek has already started to pull back and head, once again carefully, in the direction of his waiting dragon. "Good plan. Go right to the source. Ask him what's up, if you like. Sure there's a reasonable explanation of some sort." He pauses to wait for K'del to start in the same direction. "Swear, everybody's so paranoid. Making mountains out of mole-hills. Y'know, P'ax was going on about how Crom was sending spies or some nonsense, can you believe that?" That's good enough for K'del, who nods once, then climbs his way back over the fence, and then back towards Cadejoth. The map gets put away, and he digs out a towel to make some attempt at wiping down his boots and pants, though none of it is all that successful. "It's Crom," he says, by way of explanation. "Everyone's paranoid, when it comes to Crom. Guess it's just that there's been... stuff from a bunch of different sources. Could just be Crom trying to fool with us, though, or just coincidence, or something." That's a much better idea: no, no one's plotting against you, it's just coincidence! Of P'ax, he says nothing. "Let's move out, then," he concludes, settling himself back atop Cadejoth, who rises into the air a moment later. Mounting up, W'chek calls back, "Crom's got better things to do than play practical jokes on the Weyr." Thus assured, he straps himself in, frowning and reaching down to rub at some of the mud on one boot as he does. Zhikath is quick to join Cadejoth in the sky above that area, taking a long curve around, his rider leaning over as though just surveying the snaking line of the fence against the muddy ground. « We are ready when you are, » offers Zhikath. "Right," says K'del. "Right, exactly." He even smiles. Cadejoth shares the visual, in instant response to Zhikath, adding, « K'del says we should match our flight as we appear; he says it will look more imposing to them. » He waits, therefore, for five beats before sending the signal to go - then, it's Between again, coming out just above a moderate sized holding that's probably not all that far from where they were before. Their timing must be just on perfect: below, at the very moment that they appear, a tall, balding man and four equally tall, but much younger, men, are just existing the main building, probably, given the time difference, returning to work after lunch. One of them points up; after that, they all stare. Imposing. With muddy boots. Zhikath is, however, very capable of presenting the desired image, emerging with Cadejoth and careful to keep even with him. « They do stare, Holders, » he reflects. « The family do that. » W'chek's, presumably. His rider also leans over to peer down at the staring workers, then straightens carefully in his position so that his posture is more properly respectable. Zhikath, at least, has the traditional bronzen looks in his favour; Cadejoth doesn't even have the stance, though he's obviously trying really hard. « They do, » agrees Cadejoth, but he seems to be enjoying the attention. « K'del's family has mostly stopped. I think they're used to me, now. » Both Cadejoth and his rider give the silent signal to circle down to a landing, in the wake of that; as they approach, the holder steps away from the young men that are so obviously his sons, to stand in front of the two dragons with his shoulders set back. Once they're close enough; "Our duties to High Reaches and her queens." Although he's matched so far, as they land Zhikath chooses a place just slightly behind Cadejoth, giving the older bronze the place of priority. W'chek unstraps and dismounts, and it's obvious that here he really is standing a bit more straight, taking much more care to look the part he's playing here. Sort of. As much as he can manage. He *almost* says something in reply himself, but then clamps his mouth shut and glances in K'del's direction first, deferring to his Weyrleader at the last moment. Browden seems, at least for a short time, uncertain as to whom to direct his attention towards, but W'chek's gesture seems to do the trick: his gaze narrows in on K'del, and perhaps, then, there's a glimmer of recognition, the inevitable glance towards the younger rider's knot. K'del stands straight, evidently doing his very best to pretend that no, that's no mud on his boots, and no, he's not /really/ younger than all of Browden's sons, though he probably is. "And ours to you, Holder Browden. My name is K'del, and this is W'chek, Bronzerider to Zhikath. Would you have some time to talk to us?" Quietly, Cadejoth notes to Zhikath, « K'del says we're not going to mention any of the rumours yet. But otherwise, you're allowed to talk. » It might have been more fun to pretend to be Weyrleader, but as far as trying-to-get-on-the-Weyrleaders'-good-side, probably a bad move. W'chek defers, thus, but nods at his name, glancing down the holder himself, then the sons, with the slightly narrowed eyes of evaluation. "Good day," is his slightly stiff addition to the conversation thus far, still holding himself straight-backed, like he's only getting more aware by the moment just how much taller K'del is, never mind that he's not a short guy. Slightly more smoothly, "We won't take up too much of your valuable time, but we'd appreciate a few moments." Somebody has to do the buttering-up, here. If Browden were likely to object - which for a moment, it does look as though he is - W'chek's contribution to the conversation somewhat cuts him off from that; his mouth open, he looks about to say something, but then it snaps shut again. Instead, he nods mutely, followed, a few moments later by, "Join you there in a few minutes," evidently aimed at his sons, who, reluctantly, troop away. "What's this about then? Weyrleader, Bronzerider. I've naught to spare you, if it's handouts you're after." K'del flinches, a frown beginning to crease the edges of his mouth. While K'del has started frowning, W'chek actually has a little bit of a smile starting more in the eyes than the corners of his mouth. K'del's flinch and lack of immediate response leaves an opening, which the more junior ranked of the two is quicker than he ought to be to take. "No handouts, Holder, I--we--can assure you." He clears his throat, then, and turns rather intentionally to look at the Weyrleader, for the answer to that 'what's this about then', seeing as he's been expressly forbidden from bringing up the rumors. K'del is not quite as smooth as no doubt he'd like to be. "A neighbourly call," is how he starts, the faint pinkness of his cheeks no doubt the result of all the gazing in his direction. "W'chek is correct: we're not after anything. Simply, to introduce ourselves, as, no doubt, you have heard we'll be--" Beat. Beat. Beat. Stumble for the word, "Farming in the area. And to reassure you, I hope, that having us in the area will be a good thing." Browden does not look terribly impressed, staring up at K'del with a dubious expression. A gap left there that W'chek just seeps into, filling in this obvious absence of someone knowing what he's talking about. "New neighbors are an adjustment." Someone out there will snicker at this, but he's got a straight face going. "Given that, we thought we could cement relations by offering our assistance if you were to need any help, since we heard you were in the middle of some evidently big new undertakings." Brilliant smile, gesture back at Zhikath. "They can be handy for some things." And not a glance at K'del at any point in there. Sing-song, except for the undercurrent of twanging disapproval; « Your rider is in SO much trouble. » K'del's expression very visibly shows what he's thinking for a good second or two before he can smooth it back; Browden, meanwhile, is either genuinely confused or a very good actor. "New undertakings?" he repeats, addressing W'chek, since K'del hasn't yet managed to say anything useful. "I've no idea what you're talking about. Un-- oh." He shakes his head. This time, he turns his gaze back to K'del, then addresses them both. "You've heard that I wanted your land for myself. My boys... we needed more space. Thought we were going to get it: had a deal, even, just not signed off. Aughan -- /Lord/ Aughan - changed his mind, gave it to you. Cost me a pretty penny, that one. So you'll understand, then, why I'm not so thrilled with you." He's not quite done: "Appreciate the offer, though. Perhaps you will be of use at some point, then." Weakly, K'del says, since he's probably not got much more choice than that right now, "Wonderful. I hope we can... that is... I'm sorry about your situation. I hope we can make some amount of amends." The reply is almost, almost weary: « I could have told you that this was likely. » But Zhikath is out of the realm of control here. Just an observer. Like a parent exhaustedly watching a child destroy something without the energy or inclination to intervene at this point. This message may or may not have been relayed to his rider, though, who simply huffs--"Ought to know better than to count on something not signed. Your failure to obtain a contract at the time of the deal is hardly our responsibility." It's mostly under his breath by the end, like he realizes he shouldn't actually be saying this and yet is having a little trouble with controlling his mouth. Like usual. « K'del says to tell him to shut up RIGHT NOW. We're leaving. » The caps are audible. It's too late, of course - after W'chek has already spoken again, after the damage is, ultimately, done. Browden turns scarlet, and looks like he's about to yell. Luckily, K'del steps in just in time - it's nice to know he's not completely useless all the time - with a mollifying hand. "Now, now, W'chek, that's hardly necessary." Are his teeth gritted? He sounds stiff, despite his best efforts. "I'm sure Holder Browden didn't mean that at all. He was simply explaining his position. Which is entirely understandable. I'm sure, should you need some assistance at some point in the future, we can accommodate. I hope we can be... good neighbours." Browden still looks murderous. "We should let you get back to your work. Thank you for your time, Holder Browden, and once again, our duties to you." Sweeping away at this point may seem rude, but at least it ends the conversation: K'del turns to mount, moving so fast his manner doesn't seem to leave much room for argument. There's almost a protest there, but whatever effort Zhikath makes at this point is enough to get him to press his mouth shut hard, turn on his heel to mount again. « He says to tell K'del something about Browden deserving his bankrupcy for--oh, I do not need to tell you the whole thing, I am sure you get the idea. » Not a happy dragon exactly, no. « I will tell him I told you. » W'chek is busy about his straps, and the look on his face isn't really overjoyed either. Browden stands there, as they mount, gaze narrowed and expression still utterly murderous. If K'del is avoiding his gaze until he can get Cadejoth back in the air? That's only to be expected. « I do, » agrees Cadejoth, springing off into the air without his usual enthusiasm, except that speed is, definitely, for the moment, on the cards. « K'del also has a lot he would tell W'chek, but he says he does not trust himself right now. A bit like he says he won't trust W'chek with anything outside the weyr for a very long time. We're going home. » Beat. « He says if you can explain the problem, since it's obvious yours doesn't understand, he'd be grateful. » « He does not understand a great many things. » Zhikath follows, heading upwards, doing the impressive-wings thing again, although that may not be a conscious decision. « I will try. » But no promises to be made. « I cannot say that I am entirely sure of the holder's reaction, myself. » Why can nobody be straightforward in this world? But Zhikath leaves it at that as they reach a decent altitude, and holds there until the signal is provided. Admittedly; « K'del does not like him. » Browden. Probably W'chek as well, but this is definitely in relation to Browden. « He appreciates you trying. » Were W'chek to look at K'del? He'd see someone white faced with anger, and possibly not currently capable of appreciating anything. Still. It's the thought that counts. Cadejoth sends the signal: home. At the weyr, he heads straight for his own ledge, leaving the younger bronze and his rider to their own devices. Not much looking, though; from the beginning W'chek has gone back to the sullen hunched-over posture he'd adopted in the rain over the Weyr, and it seems rather appropriate to return to that, with only a halfhearted attempt to adopt his rain gear. Zhikath sends a last thought, almost a reassurance: « Surely all will be well, in the long view. » Then he returns to his own ledge, for his own upset rider to head into his weyr, hopefully to some comfort of some variety for what he surely perceives as his own insulted ego. |
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