Logs:Dinner Delivery
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| RL Date: 4 March, 2015 |
| Who: K'del, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Telavi brings K'del dinner... so that she can ask him questions. |
| Where: K'del's Weyr, HIgh Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 3, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, F'rain/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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| With the dumbwaiter still on the fritz-- again on the fritz? given up on altogether?-- dinner delivery's left to a waiter who, by popular repute, is quite the opposite of dumb... when it comes to speaking. It's not like it took much of that, though, to get choice breadstuffs for the Weyrleader; that's his due, and so is service with a smile, even if there's worry in Tela's green-tonight eyes. She's quiet as she moves about, setting the place, pouring the wine. K'del's deep in reports when Telavi arrives, and so it's not for a heaping handful of moments and more before he actually registers his water for the evening; surprised, perhaps even bewildered, he leans back in his chair, watching the greenrider silently for a few seconds more. Then, "Not enough, being servant of two masters, Telavi? You need to add a third set of duties?" Although the question is pitched to be light-hearted, there's a deeper question, there, and in his expression, too: what's up? She glances up when he does speak, even smiles-- a small one-- before she settles a lid back onto a serving dish with the faintest clink of porcelain. "It's a collection, you see," Tela says lightly in her own right. And, "It's the least I can do. I'm sorry about the mess." The mess which isn't the laid-out meal, so tidy with even the napkin just so. "You should eat. I don't mean to keep you from eating," Telavi says with a fidget of her fingers. "I mean-- the gossip," but there's all sorts of gossip. "Igen and the eggs, the eggs that aren't even laid." K'del's silent nod acknowledges Telavi's words and suggests that he understands what she means, now, though he's not quick to answer. Instead, he picks up his napkin with one hand, and with the other, gestures towards one of the empty chairs: she should sit. "Understand your boss-- the redhead boss-- has something to do with the spread of that gossip," he says, slowly. "And what do you think?" She does sit, with the sort of arranged care she'd exhibited at wingleaders' meetings, back when all she bore was her knot with its silver thread; then, after her gaze lifts to him, after that redhead boss... she adjusts it to let herself-- let them?-- be a little less formal, a little more transparent. "We were both there when the boy eavesdropped, you see," Telavi says simply. "We'd only just found out. It wasn't for his ears, not anyone's." So, no, she isn't throwing her boss under the nearest tithe-wagon. "What I think... to pick just one thought... is that it's hard to turn around once it's known. 'Known,'" complete with air quotes and an unaccustomed little twist to her lips. It's dutiful, rather than with any particular interest, the way K'del picks up his fork and begins to eat, silent except for the scrape of fork and knife against plate, and the quiet chewing that follows. He pauses, wiping his mouth with the napkin, and considers Telavi. "It was handled poorly," is an admission, though he doesn't specify details of blame. "Now enough people are up-in-arms that, well. Here we are." She doesn't watch him eat particularly avidly-- even the bread!-- nor is it with a nanny's overseeing gaze. She is watching his hands, before something-- words or attention-- lifts her gaze back up to blue. "With much less 'what? what?! what!!'" Telavi's inflected her voice in exclamatory fashion, but with the distance of a quote rather than here and now, "by now than there would have been. So maybe this is better?" She bites her lip a moment. "What... even is the deal?" The napkin is carefully set down again; the fork reclaimed. K'del pauses, however, allowing the implement to hover above his food as he considers Telavi - and her words. "The exact details won't be finalised until she's clutched," he answers, steadily enough. "We get Irianke and Niahvth until their clutch graduates. They get perhaps twenty percent of the clutch. Smaller dragons; that's apparently what they want." "So perhaps two... or three." Telavi looks downward towards her nested hands, not a tilt to her gaze so much as a bit of a droop to her head. "There might be volunteers, of course; not too many, not too few, just right. They might even be pairs Igen would take. I hope it's that... 'easy,' for all of us." "You accepted Search in a foreign Weyr," points out K'del, more or less in agreement. He sets down his fork. "Though, of course, it's different once you've been through weyrlinghood together, for some. Not everyone. " Blue eyes lift to consider Telavi, as he adds, "We'll do everything we can to make it as easy and seamless as possible. That's a promise." "I did, lucky me." The faint hint of smile alludes to flippancy, but the depth of tone says otherwise. "That's going to be my job too, isn't it?" Telavi had looked back up to K'del, somewhere in there, and now she keeps looking-- offering, maybe, or better, explaining. K'del pushes his plate away, gesturing towards the remnants-- a whole piece of bread, even!-- in a way that acknowledges that offering his leftovers may not seem the most magnanimous of gestures. "In part," he allows. "Guess it's going to take some finessing from all of us. It'd help if--" A pause. "Well. If we can work together." And not cause more problems, THANKS QUINLYS. "It would be nice," Telavi says with an itty bitty sigh, right after she's looked at his plate-- really?-- and then the man-- really? And yet, she chooses to take him up on it... where that seems to be rising to take his plate, discreet as the server she's not-quite-pretended to be. Maybe that's to bring it back to the kitchens. "She, the weyrwoman, the way it sounded, she didn't even know how many... or how they would be decided, really. If we're counting her as 'we'..." K'del has the grace, at least, to look apologetic, if only for a moment. "Probably because the details aren't confirmed, yet," he points out, shaking his head. "I don't know how they'll be decided, or how many. Shells, I wasn't even at the original negotiating table; this was a deal between Azaylia and Nimae. Irianke and I are both second-tier on this, in a sense. Or were, at least, in the initial stages. That'll change." "You weren't?" Perhaps Tela shouldn't sound so surprised, particularly since she grew up under Cora, but-- but-- "Oh, awkward." And distracting enough that, leaning against the table, she pauses to gnaw upon one of his crusts. Though really, it's more of a nibble. "I don't suppose you really want to noise that about, either... or at least, if you have, it's not gossip that I've heard has gained any traction." "Not saying I didn't know what was being discussed," K'del hastens to explain. "But I wasn't at the negotiating table; it was Weyrwoman to Weyrwoman. One gets the impression that's the way Nimae prefers things." If he's troubled by it-- no, no, he doesn't seem to be; merely, perhaps, the faintest bit rueful. Both hands rest upon the rim of the table. "Goldrider transfers are weyrwomen's business, after all. Clutches become mine, but later. And really... I was pleased. Am pleased. Goldriders aren't meant to work alone. Not the way it's supposed to work." For the first time tonight, a dimple flashes in Tela's cheek, what with that haste and all; "I see," she murmurs. "I'm glad it's working, well, more the way it's supposed to. In a good way. If," but let's not go there. She doesn't. "I do wish we'd gotten off on a better foot. If that boy hadn't--" ugh. She twists the remainder of the crust in leftover sauce. "Had you heard she wants to be pretty... involved?" K'del draws himself up from the table, stretching out his shoulders in long, easy rolls. Evidently, he prefers not to comment further on how things work, or why, instead focusing upon that last. "Involved?" This crazy little thing called discretion! "Mmm," is Tela's agreement. "Sit in on classes, teach classes... I don't expect she plans to help shovel muck or anything," but wouldn't that be a sight? K'del's abrupt snort of laughter gives a pretty good indication that he's imagining that kind of involvement right now. More serious, however, is the way he shakes his head. "Guess it's up to Azaylia whether she's willing to give her freedom for duties for that, and up to Quinlys to allow-- really, I was thinking that perhaps we'd invite Igen to assign a handful of riders as mentors; let them feel involved without... without actually interfering. Irianke could be a mentor, too, I suppose. Especially if there's a queen." "Really?" and then, after the initial jolt of Tela's brows, the latter reach stratospheric heights as he continues. "They could be... influential," comes out more hesitantly than otherwise. "They could be," agrees K'del. "But the weyrlings will also be surrounded by High Reaches riders. They could just as easily be turned off Igen. But-- the thing is, we shouldn't be framing it as if Igen is bad. They may have some good ideas; things we can all learn from. That's part of what this is all about; learning from each other. Improving relations." "Mmm." It's not disagreement, not when it comes to framing, but all of a sudden Tela's abandoned the plate on its corner and is turning away. Away, and then so far away that she's turning to. Peeking over her shoulder, "They want our smaller dragons, but never as wingleaders." "Never said I agree with F'rain's methods," points out K'del, which is not really an answer. He abandons the chair he's been standing beside, turning to pace - walk? - across the room. "How do you want me to defend that?" Telavi asks, her voice quiet, all but intangible. "Shall I say, it's not like it's likely to happen anyway?" K'del is facing away, now; perhaps Tela won't be able to see the way he closes his eyes, tightens his expression. "You can encourage them to learn more about why Igen does what it does. You don't have to defend anything; that's not our place. Not going to condemn them; doesn't mean I'm going to defend it." "No?" The syllable lengths, becomes louder only insofar as she steps towards the turn of his back. Another step-- then she stops, and her voice smiles. "I can see them now. Tours. Visits to Igen, to ask them questions and sample their cuisine. This time of Turn, plenty of our weyrfolk would love to." "You make it sound like--" K'del stops. His voice does not sound especially pleased, though; mostly, he sounds tired and frustrated and faintly annoyed. "Riders go where they're sent. That's part of being a rider. Not interested in making people unhappy, but this was a good deal for High Reaches. That's all." Beat. "Thank you for dinner." He turns, expression blank; it's plainly a dismissal. Surprise registers in her expression, its traces still there when he turns, by then intermixed with worry and an inkling of distress; "Of course," she says mutedly. And-- "I'm sorry," even more so, given the direction of how she's turned to take up the leavings and take them away. K'del has nothing more to say; frustrated, he waits in silence until the greenrider is gone. Sometimes? Sometimes this job sucks. |
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