Logs:The Story
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| RL Date: 24 August, 2013 |
| Who: E'ten, N'muir, N'rov, Nesri |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: The evening Fort's weyrwomen are taken prisoner, the renegades show up to provide their list of demands, which includes a confession from N'muir. |
| Where: N'muir's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Jivrain/Mentions |
| What started out as a beautiful summer day quickly developed into confusion for the dragons and riders of Fort Weyr. Elaruth and Isyath's fury agitated many of the Weyr's dragons, the senior queen's demand to /stay/ and the subsequent silence that followed leaving Fort without any queens to dull the rippling confusion their mixed messages have stirred up. Bijedth has been flying restless circles over the Weyr, his aimless flight unending for hours at a time. Periodically, he drifts close enough to the Weyr's caldera to cling to the rock for a moment but agitation lures him again to the skies, his eyes brightly whirling with fear and frustration. N'muir is no better than his lifemate, having stormed to one end of the Bowl to murmur excitedly to one group of riders or another, only to storm back to the leader's ledge looking no more relieved for whatever words were shared, and then catching sight of someone else familiar he's headed back across the Bowl in a huff. With that too proving fruitless, N'muir returns to his ledge to pace, Bijedth passing along his rider's request to Vhaeryth in N'muir's clipped tone: « My weyr. Something has happened. » Clearly an invitation for N'rov rather than Vhaeryth himself. There's piercing acknowledgement from Vhaeryth, who'd initially done some Weyr-circling himself, as though tracing Isyath's paths in her absence; since then he's taken over more than his fair share of Tooth Crag, alternately looking outward towards whatever else may be seen and looking inward towards his rider. The sharpness of his attention follows the distant speck of his rider, hurrying to follow N'muir's command and his own urgency, grim expression warding off others who might intercept him. In response to everything that's happened, Adiulth maintains watch along the Rim in the form of a burnished bronze who looks out towards the space that remains devoid of not one but two queens. Missed clearly enough, the silence in the bronze's tone betrays exactly how intently he listens for any stirrings from either. It's only with that message from Bijedth that he replies. « He comes. » Because there's no way that the dragon is meant to arrive. But the rider does. Stepping briskly towards the stairs leading to N'muir's weyr, E'ten looks like a man on a mission should someone think to interrupt him. So it's by the time he arrives, already spotting N'rov beats ahead of him. The blue long-vanished from the ranks of Sandstone has the audacity to land on Elaruth's empty ledge when he makes his appearance only minutes after N'rov and E'ten have made their way across ledges. He's accompanied by a bigger, burlier bronze who may well be one of the senior queen's offspring, given the pale quality of his metallic hide. Juloth wastes no time in making himself comfortable, the edge of the ledge adopted as the perfect perch, leaving room for his bronze friend and his rider (though leaving room for the bronze /is/ something of a necessity). « Nesri would speak with yours, » he /tells/ Bijedth, feeding on Nesri's confidence as the tired-looking woman steps down from straps and tears off her helmet and goggles. N'muir is beginning to turn into his weyr when blue and then bronze lay claim to the achingly empty expanse of Elaruth's ledge. His breath comes quickly, chest straining to maintain some semblance of normalcy at the sight of Juloth and Nesri while wide eyes burrow darkly into the bluerider's face. The corner of his jaw flexes with the tension of gritted teeth behind tight lips. He doesn't bother with introductions or greetings before heading in under the privacy of his weyr with the expectant air for all to follow him - even Nesri. Inside his weyr, N'muir paces, taking advantage of his turned back to rub his hand over his face and pinch the bridge of his nose between his eyes before turning to his stock of wineskins. "E'ten, N'rov," he begins to say and stops, looking towards the outer weyr for the figure of the blurider. He hestitates and frowns. "This can't be a coincidence..." Though that murmured sentence isn't for E'ten or N'rov, but for himself, uttered darkly to the wineskins. Expectation or no, N'rov doesn't follow N'muir, not yet. Rather, he stands back, his grandiloquent bow not so deep as to force him to take narrowed gray eyes off Nesri and the other bronzerider, but encouraging nonetheless: do go ahead. Give him their backs. Vhaeryth's sending is a quick explanation to Bijedth and, after a moment, Adiulth, a sense of watchfulness, of position. The dragon that looks to belong with Sandstone, or did, is given a longer look that the larger companion who settles on the empty ledge beside him. Without a frown or anything that might give away his current thoughts, he waits for N'muir with a brief nod accorded the Weyrleader before giving a sidelong glance at N'rov. All before waiting to see those who arrive and what they may have to say. "Oh, kid," for the prematurely-greying Nesri has a good fifteen turns or more on N'rov, "me and your Weyrleader are old friends." She makes a show of dragging her feet, slowing right down in the mouth of the weyr; she ain't budging until he does. Her other dear friend, the one with the mangled bronzerider knots, lingers at the other end of the ledge, closer to their dragons than the weyr. He demonstrates no intention of moving further at all; turns his back to them to survey the bowl, entirely disinterested. "Aren't we, N'muir? Not that we've seen each other in a while," she calls ahead to the Weyrleader when she finally steps inside. "Both your weyrwomen are still breathing, but you know that, of course. Be /quite/ the fuss here if they weren't." N'muir snatches a cup up from his serving table and a wineskin after it, opening the 'skin with no less affection than the dark look he gave the bluerider Nesri. "Are you all just going to stand out there?" he calls out in an agitated tone from the inner weyr. N'muir frowns down at the cup as wine spills out of the 'skin and fills it to the brim. "What do you want, Nesri?" he mutters miserably as he lifts his cup, taking a long swig of it before turning to the entrance of his weyr. "And when?" "Congratulations on your reunion, then," N'rov drawls, as soon as he can begin to erase the disconcerted twist to his features. It buys time for Vhaeryth to arrow towards Bijedth's ledge, spurred by the bluerider's words, though less time than if N'rov didn't stop 'just standing out there' and stride so swiftly ahead of Nesri, the better to keep her further from /his/ back. Once he's inside the weyr and given his wingleader a rough nod, he moves just to the side of the entrance, sizing Nesri up for the way she moves and any visible weapons; as he does, one hand moves to his opposite wrist, restless, stopping only once his dragon lands. E'ten presses his lips together into a fine, thin line as he steps inside - purposely towards the back to observe these visitors to the Weyr. Regardless of previous status. For all of his observations, he doesn't seem to look anything but a rider who might have had a bad and rather sour skin of wine. All considered. N'muir's words are enough to focus his attention on the here and now, even though it doesn't keep him from observing silently while otherwise approaching the inside arrangement. "You are going to empty your Weyr's storerooms and bring their contents to Southern Boll," Nesri says evenly, following on through to the inner weyr at her leisure. "You're going to go through the records and erase any mention of the people on the list of names I provide you with. You're going to do these things without a fuss. Like you're /pleased/ to help." She shoves her hands into her pockets and rocks back on her heels, surveying the three bronzeriders before her. "Oh." The bluerider yawns - or pretends to - and scrubs a hand through her off-blonde hair. "And you're going to tell your wingmates here just how we know each other. And /then/ you'll tell everyone else." And yet she says nothing of getting anything in return. N'muir moves casually towards his table and chairs, claiming one of the seats for himself. He gives a short, self-depreciating chuckle and shakes his head in disbelief. "Oh, is that all?" He does at least sound /pleased/, as she requested, but it is a very mocking, sarcastic display. But her last demand quiets him and he glares at her across the room, the brims of his eyes suddenly sharp and severe. She has his attention. "You haven't told me when I am expected to do this by." He doesn't so much as look sidelong at either N'rov or E'ten yet. "And you haven't said that any of this will result in the safe return of our weyrwomen and queens." N'rov might have better concealed the impact of Nesri's words about /their weyrwomen/, but once the bluerider starts in, there goes reason or even inclination to work too hard on staying impassive. Sharp gray eyes flick between her and N'muir, less expectant for that latter than simply assured that he'll have some retort, something that will put the once-vanished bluerider in her place. The sarcasm seems a good start, given the answering curl of what's not really a smile, but N'muir's further reaction, that incites a waiting stillness. Now Nesri pretends to stretch, lacing her fingers together as she straightens her arms out before her. "Well, I expect you do what you can with what you have, to start with. Right now, you have your two young friends here and a story that I'm sure they're simply /dying/ to hear. So, I think there's /something/ that you could do in the next five minutes, don't you?" Her hands find her hips now, settling there lazily. "Consider it a show of good faith. /Then/ I might get to considering leaving your weyrwomen unharmed and in your care. They make a bit of a sorry sight, you know. Your Senior's not talking and your junior's white as a sheet." That. Those terms are met with a hardened gaze, hand settled on the back of the chair as E'ten too takes a seat at the table. It won't to him any good to do anything reckless, so the bronzerider listens. And watches to what is and isn't said by their visitors. So far, nothing hasn't been said that he hadn't thought of. N'muir tries to exude his usual self, effort made more difficult perhaps by Bijedth's unusual behaviour in the sky, circling over and over without reason. Still, for wingmates accustomed to seeing him in all shades of emotions, his act may not be convincing. He swallows just a little too hard and the hand that lifts his wine to his lips betrays him by giving one nervous shiver as he lifts the cup to his mouth. But that shiver is /tamed/ as he sets the cup back down after his sip. Did they even notice it? "If you think I care whether they know I was part of your little group, you're mistaken," N'muir returns, and his voice holds the barest level of tension that wasn't there a moment ago, his eyes steady, staring at Nesri. "I /was/ one of the renegades - one of the originals Turns back, before you got all... twisted and fucked up like you are. Once I figured out what you were all really about, I didn't want to be a part of it anymore. That doesn't make me anything but /stupid/ for falling for the bullshit." He swallows again, and hard. "You don't look so good, Nesri," he says gently, threads of almost-concern in his voice. "Juloth neither. You're killing yourself listening to their crap. /Why/? What's even in it for you?" N'rov's scowling by now, but that's unlikely to be any surprise; if he'd noticed that effort, that shiver, it seems he isn't currently holding it against his wingleader. But he is flexing his hands again, alternating which takes hold of the opposite wrist. He /also/ isn't looking at Nesri, when he does look at her, with anything like concern at all. No surprise. No stunned glances from E'ten, even though his version of scowling lies in the firm press of his lips and the arms which lift and settle across his chest. More at the mention of the status of both werywomen in their captive's company. Though, his eyes do flick from N'muir then to Nesri. Tick. Tock. Back and forth. "Funny. I remember Isaphe being pretty twisted and fucked up and you were /right with us/ then," Nesri answers nonchalantly, approaching the table to set palms down upon it. "/You/ didn't get locked up for that turn like the rest of us." She pauses, lips pursing, then amends, "/Some/ of us." Her gaze goes a little distant, her voice taking on a faintly musical lilt. "We had a little cothold out there in the woods. It wasn't much, but it was beautiful. Didn't have to stick around here all the time. And we didn't. Did we?" That last bit's definitely for N'muir. "We've scaled up now. And I don't know what kind of sordid little deal you've made with your bitch of a Weyrwoman, but you can't be doing too badly out of it to get two kids on her, huh? This is /your/ fault." As for the state of her and her lifemate, she shakes her head, straightening. "It's worth it to keep away from /you/. I don't answer to a traitor. /That's/ what's in it for me. Us." N'muir clenches his jaw shut firmly and swallows down whatever knee-jerk remark is trying to crawl out of his mouth. "I had hints that things weren't what I thought they were but I chalked it up to just a few idiots ruining it for the rest of us," he admits bitterly. Does he say that for N'rov and E'ten's benefit or does he really believe he'll convince Nesri? "I thought Hattie and T'rev were going to let all the herds get infected; I didn't trust their leadership. But once I saw- Isaphe was letting Nyvenirth /die/ for what we did out there. That's not what I wanted - I wanted nothing to do with anyone who'd let their dragon wither away like that. What I did, I did /for/ Bijedth, for Fort." He looks down at his wine, abandoning the back-and-forth about his and Nesri's connected past. His jaw flexes and releases as her words sink in and a burdened weight sinks into his eyes. "Empty the Stores and tell everyone in Fort I'm a traitor - and you'll give us our queens and their riders back unharmed?" he asks, voice quieted some, defeated. That last question of N'muir's, that's what it boils down to. Of the pair, it's Nesri whom N'rov continues to watch most of all. There's a lot of history here as well. That much E'ten's able to discern. But there's one thing that tugs at his mind, increasingly so as he interjects a comment. "Wait. In all of this, you want the stores to do /what/ exactly? This back story and all is nice to know, but it's not like you can go into hiding down in Boll." "Empty the stores, erase the names I give you and confess to your involvement in all this," past or otherwise, "and we'll see what we can do about giving you back your weyrwomen," Nesri agrees, stepping back from the table. She folds her arms beneath her chest and glances from E'ten to N'rov and back again. "The Holders were much less talkative than you, you know," she drawls to their Weyrleader. When her attention is drawn back to E'ten, she laughs and rolls her eyes in the direction of the ceiling, shaking her head again. "Have you been able to find us all these sevens and months? You're not quite all there, are you?" she puts to him. A deep breath, a decisive nod, and then it seems that the deal may be done. But wait. "Before I go, I want to know what deal you made that kept /you/ out of solitary confinement like the rest of us." N'muir. N'muir's gaze stares at Nesri in the wake of E'ten's comment. He seems willing to permit the interruption to his and Nesri's otherwise one- or two-sided conversation. "I need a guarantee that they will be returned to us as soon as your terms are met," he tells Nesri. "Take the supplies and never return to Fort. Your damage will have been done and you can rule your lives however you want - just leave us alone." N'muir maintains that stare, unwilling or unwanting to look away lest he find out what's written on the faces of his wingmates. "I didn't make a deal," he tells Nesri. "You'll have to ask Hattie why she didn't give me the same sentence as you. Maybe because she knew that I wasn't like you. Or maybe because I was Weyrleader, I don't know. But she did hate me. With great enthusiasm. Now..." He gestures to the outer weyr. "I have plenty of work to do, don't you think, Nesri? Could you please leave and let me conduct my Weyr's business?" Rule their lives however they want, only, "What's going on with the Holders?" N'rov's compelled to interject. He'd drawl as much as Nesri does if it weren't for the tightness that's also there. It would be rather easy for E'ten to remark upon that observation. Rather than appear perturbed or display foolishness, the man appears rather bemused with a tilt of his head in regard of Nesri. But it doesn't find him giving any further information on what exact thoughts crossed his mind in the span of this conversation, thus far. Nesri smirks. "You'll just have to trust us. We'll be sending someone to check your records, after all. Perhaps once we see that's been done, we'll escort your goldriders home. We've got business elsewhere, of course. Jivrain has been /very/ accommodating of late." It's fitting that N'rov should ask about them right at that moment. "You can have the Hold when we're done with it, if you like," she says sweetly. "I can't say /when/ that'll be, but so much depends on hospitality and diplomacy, doesn't it?" She sighs and rocks back on her heels once again. "We'll expect the supplies tomorrow. I understand it'll take /time/. Just not /too/ long. I'd prepare someone to work in the records too. I'll be back with that list before you know it." Slow steps begin to carry her back from the table now. "In the meantime, I think I'll go ask your Weyrwoman how you avoided your sentence. You conduct 'your' Weyr's business. While you can." She doesn't linger, but nor does she turn her back on them before she reaches the ledge, where she finds her bronzeriding friend and takes the skies. They'll be back. |
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