Logs:Need To Know
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| RL Date: 13 July, 2014 |
| Who: K'del, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin has bad news. K'del has worse. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 4, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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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. R'hin and Leiventh have been rather scarce in the last seven, which is hardly unusual -- moreso, perhaps, is the fact that the entirety of Savannah is noteably absent from their usual weekly poker game at the Rider's Lounge. In fact, a lot of Savannah seems busy and absent, and it's late in the evening on the first day of the month that Leiventh seeks Cadejoth. It's a wordless request, with an image of the council chambers. R'hin is there, pacing back and forth, drenched from the spring rain, his flight jacket tossed casually over the back of one of the chairs. Cadejoth, settled up on the ledges above the hatching sands, where he can shake out his wings and generally move about without disturbing anything, is equally non-verbal in his reply, though it is surely an affirmative. It takes only a few minutes for K'del to arrive, socked feet padding on the stone floor, his hands dug into the pockets of his dark blue dressing gown - though at least he's wearing actual clothes beneath it. "R'hin," he says, unlidding another of the glows as he passes around the table. "What's happened?" There's a beat of surprised silence as R'hin's pale eyes take in K'del's state of dress. It's enough that it throws him off what he probably intended to say, and it stays his pacing path, too. "Have you gotten that old that it's bedtime as soon as it gets dark?" That the tone has an edge of forced lightness might be difficult to determine; his lips twitch briefly. "Yes, and I'm drinking my meals through a straw because my teeth've all come out," retorts K'del, turning upon his heel to face the other bronzerider, both hands resting upon the back of one of the chairs. "Better buy me a walking stick for my turnday." His tone is not quite as light as it ought to be, given the joking content of his words; he's watching R'hin too closely, his mouth pulled tight and serious. A longer beat this time, as if the older bronzerider is weighing up pressing forward on this line, or... there's a sharp shake of R'hin's head, as he switches gears abruptly. "I'd thought it was an anomaly. Had Savannah bedded in up and down the Tillek coast the last seven, but it's pretty much everywhere by now -- in different forms and variations, but with one common theme: Dragons are attacking ships." For long seconds, there's nothing but silence from K'del; silence, and wide-opened eyes. Then, on an exhale: "Fuck." His hands tighten upon the back of the chair in front of him, gripping the wood with white-knuckled force. In the silence, R'hin studies the Weyrleader intently, gaze flickering to the press of the younger rider's hands against the chair's back. "It's absurd, of course -- no dragon would attack humans -- but it's far too late to contain it; the only hope we have is to try and direct it, and maybe not even that. People are putting five and eight together and getting an equation that suggests dragons are behind all the recently missing ships." A breath, and he adds, "You or Azaylia should talk to Lady Edeline immediately -- maybe she can help... quash this." A harsh, unhappy breath escapes from K'del's mouth at that suggestion, that dragons could be behind all the missing ships, though he's quick to nod - just once. "Amazed she hasn't come knocking already," he murmurs, tone solidifying into something firmer as he speaks. "But we'll work something out with her. Fix this, if we can. As much as we can. Can't imagine what they think our motive is in this." "That she hasn't could well be telling in itself," R'hin suggests, rocking back on his heels briefly, brow furrowed. "I'll see if I can track down the source in the meantime, though that's problematic in itself. As for motive?" He makes a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between dismissive and ill-pleased. "Holders find Weyrs a good focus for finger-pointing during an Interval." "Mm," confirms K'del. "Anything to paint us as the enemy. Stealing from them through tithes and through destruction of livelihoods and lives." He sounds just short of bitter as he says that, but reels it back in when he adds, "Find out what you can. Do what you want. We'll deal with the diplomacy. Edeline's usually quick enough to blame us; if she hasn't, that's... well, won't say a good thing. Guess we'll see. Telling, though - yes, maybe." It's his turn to pace, now. That bitter tone focuses R'hin's attention on the Weyrleader, but he's silent after, nodding only when K'del gives him his orders. "See if you can..." he stops, hesitates, weighing it up. "The Harpers will help, with this. Help put it to bed, or at least help calm angrier heads. I'd suggest for the time being that any ventures into the Tillekian area be done in pairs. Just in case." K'del's hands fall to his sides, fists unclenching slowly, as though it takes sheer force of will to do so. He pauses, swinging around to glance back at R'hin, and nods - just once. "Makes sense," he murmurs. "Don't want to inflame tempers. I'll talk to the Harpers. To the Seacraft, too. If we can..." He exhales. "We'll just have to do our best to contain this." And, quieter, "Fucking A'rist." "You, and Azaylia, might need to be prepared that it might not be." Contained, presumably. "I'll let you deal with the Weyrwoman." R'hin tugs a hand through damp hair, starting to turn on his heel before he stops and stares at K'del at that last, near-inaudible phrase. "A'rist?" he echoes, quizzical. The set of K'del's jaw suggests he's preparing for the worst, even if hoping for the best; he gives an uneasy half nod at R'hin's comment about Azaylia, and hesitates rather more obviously over the rest. "A'rist," he says, finally, and with definite displeasure, "is almost certainly the source of this rumour. The details don't matter; what matters is that there's just enough truth to the idea of dragons destroying ships that... this could prove difficult." And now it is R'hin's turn to clench his fists, to take a breath, and for his voice to carry a bare whisper of ire: "The details don't matter?" He exhales sharply. "Fuck, K'del. I thought I'd find some young kid who failed to impress hiding in a shack muttering bitter sentiments about the Weyr at the bottom of this. If there's truth, however full, at the bottom, we're fucked. Either the rumors persist, and it destroys relationships between Hold and Weyr, or we suppress it and someone, somewhere, down the line finds out something, and--" he claps his hands together, abruptly, and spins on a heel to resume pacing path, back and forward on the other side of the table. It's impossible for K'del to contain his wince; to hide his... is it dismay? Despair? "It was a pirate ship," he says, muted, making no effort to argue the point with R'hin; nor is this an excuse, an attempt to ease the situation. He knows. "That much is confirmed. The rest... I know. I know." He closes his eyes, hands stuffing themselves back into the pockets of his robe. The pacing slows; "A pirate ship?" R'hin echoes with disbelief, despite whatever he catches in K'del's expression after a quick glance. "If you think about how likely that is," he shakes his head, pacing resuming for another turn. "The Weyr was monitoring the situation with the missing ships, saw an opportunity, yadda, yadda," his hand waves, "We might be able to spin this. Very, very carefully." A beat. "Is there anything else I need to know?" That word, need, is chosen very deliberately. "Yes," says K'del, very slowly, and very carefully. He exhales, pressing one hand to the back of a chair again. "No, there's nothing else you need to know." 'Need.' His use of the word is somewhat gentler, though still deliberate. There's a noise of acknowledgement from R'hin, and he turns and leaves, wordlessly, extra energy lengthening his stride as he pulls on his jacket. Moments later Leiventh rises a few wing beats into the air and disappears. |
Comments
A'rist on 07:38, 19 July 2014 said...
Lythronath: \o/
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