Logs:Harvest Help
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| RL Date: 18 December, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Another late-night-meeting between weyrleaders. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aughan/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions |
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| It's been... a difficult few months. During the worst of the plague, meetings were kept to a minimum, but the information exchange was regular: this event at Crom, this missive from Edeline, this news. This death. In the time since the illness began to wear down, K'del's main focus has been on ensuring the holds are doing what they can to salvage the turn's crops (with the weyr's support, if not actual hands), and it's been keeping him busy. In a way, it's been as if everyone has been holding their breath, not quite willing to believe that the worst is actually over. Today's news has, thankfully, been non-explosive: Lord Aughan has finally emerged from the relative bubble of 'official mourning' for his deceased daughter and has requested his first face-to-face meeting with the weyrleaders, and young Taeliyth of Fort spent a few hours visiting, her rider having been seen spending time with K'del. Now, however, as the evening wears on into night, and later night, K'del sits, barefoot, upon the couch within his weyr. The open bottle is plum brandy, the two glasses beside it filled, and in deference to the fine evening, the curtain to the ledge has been left open-- although Cadejoth is nowhere to be seen, having chosen to continue his usual vigil upon the weyr's rim. Irianke arrives, pausing at the entrance to the weyr and considers the barefoot man before her and the plum brandy at the ready. A half-smile floats and the woman's Igen drawl, more velvety and thicker now for the late hour, remarks, "Intending to resume that reputation of yours that apparently rivals mine?" Her own shoes, the dancing kind, are slung over her shoulder by their satin ribbbon laces. "Girls young enough to be my daughter really turn me on, Irianke. Do you think it's a mid-life crisis?" K'del's quip hovers there for a second before he seems to think better of it-- yes, there's the regret, the realisation of how bad that sounds to his own ears-- and makes a face. "She sees me as a mentor. It's refreshing. Farideh and Jocelyn are unlikely to ever... well. Nice evening?" Irianke sees that face and makes one of her own, an amused gently mocking one that doesn't quite secret that smile away in time. She doesn't need to say, "No comment," but she does anyway. She spans the rest of the distance and sinks herself next to K'del on that couch and drops her heels to the ground. "Farideh and Jocelyn aren't in over their head," appraises the Weyrwoman of a foreign goldrider. "Or bereft of a stable Weyr. It's a lovely night." The last she says kicking her own bare feet up onto that table, and looking out to the open-curtained ledge. "It's a beautiful night. And Dahlia... it sounds like Mirinda has her on board. Taeliyth is another matter altogether, but the two goldriders are working well together. I don't envy them, not for a second. We got off lucky." It's a sober thought, and one that calls for a drink: he moves to collect both glasses, offering one to Irianke. "It'll be autumn, soon." "Did we now?" asks Irianke, an unsubtle thread of archness in her voice as she slants K'del a side look. "Other than the sickness that traveled all of Pern, there's been significant less tragedy at High Reaches since," the Weyrwoman lets that trail off when she reaches for the offered glass. "It's not Igen." But the tone of her throw away comment is unclear as to whether that's a good or a bad thing. K'del's mood, and his expression, sours some... but only some. "This turn," he says. "We've been lucky. It could have been much worse." His words are careful and deliberate, and occupy him as he resumes his seat, cradling his own glass. "Nowhere is Igen but Igen. This is High Reaches, for better and for worse. And hopefully the 'worse' doesn't mean a failed harvest thanks to illness and death." Irianke looks at K'del for a moment during the sourness, and then back to her view of the bowl and the lack of late night inhabitants of it. "I'd hopes Tillek would fall in line in the aftermath of the plague. And Crom." Her lips press thin as she considers their recalcitrant holds. "It never bodes well when Lord Crom requests an audience with the both of us." K'del downs part of his glass, exhaling into a sigh only after he's done so; perhaps his moment of pique has passed. Perhaps not. "Tillek seems not to have noticed our efforts for them. Edeline appears to have selective vision." There's sourness for that, but then... why wouldn't there be? "I've no idea what Crom wants. But you're right: it's not a good sign. I've not heard of anything new happening there lately... I imagine you've not been there in months, either." "No. Not in months," responds Irianke, though not without some notable care in her inflection. "You should wear something purple when we meet him, that rich vest you usually save for functions." Which means never. The glass, untouched, gets set on the table, and the goldrider turns onto her hip, elbow to the back of the couch and a hand in her tousled hair to observe K'del. "Have you considered asking the Holds if dragon assistance in the reaping of their fields and transport of their agriculture would be welcome in light of recent events?" K'del fixes a dubious glance on Irianke, but doesn't comment further on those first remarks; instead, surprise flickers in his expression, followed by thoughtfulness, as his teeth come to rest upon his lower lip. They linger there for several seconds before withdrawing as he says, "Not actively. The last time I tried to encourage dragonriders to... but I can see advantages. Another way to remind them of our usefulness." "It could be considered beneath our station to do such menial labor," Irianke says aloud one of the objections that might come of it, "And yet, it is in the best interests of us and them if we did aid them in this way. I, for one, enjoy eating through the winter." "Yes." Yes to both, probably; yes to all of it. K'del's expression remains considering, focused intently upon Irianke rather than on the glass that gets transferred from one hand to the other. "There are a lot of things that are arguably beneath our station, but... I'd rather eat food than pride. It's worth making the offer to the holds... dragonriders do what they're told." There's some steel in that; he'll deal with disapproval, if and when it comes. "The queens," whether they all agree or not, "Will support you." Such is the privilege of senior queenship, never mind damn juniors who collude. Irianke finally turns back and gets to her feet, not forgetting her shoes. "A short meeting," she casts a look at K'del, one rife with an impish suggestion. "I've continued business to attend to tonight." "Thank you," says K'del. His gaze follows Irianke to standing, then breaks off, his head shaking. "You... enjoy yourself, Irianke. We'll speak more soon." |
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