Logs:Tattletale (2)
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| RL Date: 9 June, 2013 |
| Who: Dal, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dal takes his suspicions to N'rov. |
| Where: Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr / The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 13, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Elise/Mentions, R'zi/Mentions |
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| Feasts are great and all, even the kinds that have candidates served first, but there comes a time when a man has to take a break. So it is that N'rov makes his way between the crowded tables and out into the comparative quietness of the inner caverns. He pauses by one of the glowbaskets' niches, pulling into view what turns out to be a scarf that had been left there, then shrugs and pushes it back before starting to continue on the familiar path. For some candidates, the whole being served thing is awkward and uncomfortable, and for some, any excuse to step out is a good one. And so it is that Dal, having noticed N'rov's departure, excuses himself from the table to follow the bronzerider into the inner caverns. "Sir?" he says, hastening his stride so he can try and catch up. "Could I talk to you for a moment?" It's a couple paces later that N'rov slows, turning. "Talking to me?" He's got an unhurried smile for whoever interrupts him, one that broadens a notch upon identifying Dal. "For you, /two/." The bronzerider's gotten his head shaved again, a few days ago by the looks of it; his garments are layered more than most Fortians' might be this time of Turn, what with the caverns being cool or chilly this far from the main cavern and all those people's body heat. Dal is not exactly prone to /smiling/, but normally he'd have some kind of reaction to that remark; not tonight. No, now he just looks serious, his shoulders squared as he comes to a halt a few steps away from the bronzerider. "It's - that is, I'm concerned about one of the other candidates, and Junior Weyrwoman Ali did ask me to keep an eye out, and I thought you'd be a good person to talk to. I don't want to bother her, if I can help it." If N'rov might otherwise have gone with the 'Do I look like a candidate coordinator?' response, at the invocation of Ali's name his expression changes, his jaw setting. "Meet me in," he glances up and down the cavern, "the Glass Fountain. I'll be a few minutes, so order me a beer and something you're allowed to have." If the candidate really wants to talk to him, he'll be there. If not, N'rov will at least have gotten his rest stop. It's an expression - an implied reaction - that Dal can approve of, clearly. He nods, just once, and then turns on his heel to walk /directly/ to the Glass Fountain. Which could be considered a little rude, maybe, but the look on his face certainly suggests that he's only got one thing on his mind: getting this off of his chest. By the time N'rov arrives, Dal is ensconced in one of the booths, a mug of tea in front of him, and a beer set out across from him, ready and waiting. N'rov doesn't take long to find him, and when he does, he has that seat across from Dal with the same economy of motion. The tea gets a brief look of interest, and he says, "Not running me much tonight, I see. It's a little," he lifts a shoulder, "more than where I usually go, but all right. What's on your mind." That said, time for the beer. "I like tea," is Dal's reply, even and unashamed. He's /not/ one of the candidates who has been bitching about alcohol restrictions. "It's - Razi. I don't know if you've met him? He claims to be from Fort Sea, but I lived at Fort Sea, and his accent is all wrong. He sounds more like... Bria or Wyriker. Or you. It keeps changing, back and forth. I asked him about it, and he got evasive. He said it was his business, not ours. He's defensive, and... I feel like, given everything, maybe someone should try and find out what's going on." "So the problem is," N'rov says, "not that you can't understand him or me or anything." Humor's sparked in his gray eyes, lingering even for the significantly more serious, "It's trying to fake it. Do you happen to know whether it gets more like me, or Riker or this Bria girl, when he's pissed or otherwise? Not that that couldn't be part of the plan, but why bother making someone suspicious in the first place, then." Dal does not, especially, seem to be in much of a mood for humor, though he nods readily enough for that analysis. "It's - hm." He pauses, considering his tea for a lengthy moment. "When he gets distraced, I think. If you call attention to it, he's more consistent, but the rest of the time less so. I don't know. Why would anyone fake where they're from like that?" N'rov is nodding. "Good that you came to me with it. I know just who to talk to." If he doesn't fly off the handle. Or maybe even if he does. "'Razi,' you said? Maybe he's running away from something. Maybe he's wanting to be someone else. Maybe he just had parents from each place," so he learned two different accents, "and they're fighting and it pisses him off." There's something relieved in Dal's expression, something he can't seem to put into words - just a nod. And then, "Maybe that is all it is. /Maybe/. But I'd feel just awful, if it weren't this, and something happened. It feels like we can't be too careful." /We/, even if he blushes for having put it that way. "Razi. He used to be a Baker Apprentice, I think. He's not very forthcoming about more than that. What will happen, if there is something suspicious about him?" This time, it's just one nod in return. "Better to be more careful than not, I'd say." N'rov drinks deep. "Back when I was a candidate," centuries ago, "the worst of it was that Boll and this Weyr weren't getting along. This one's a runner of a different color." He doesn't seem to mind the blush, though gray eyes are definitely amused. "What would happen would depend on what there is to find. Another possibility: he was from Boll, like me, and then when he got apprenticed, moved and picked up the rest. Maybe his parents disowned him, isn't that the sort of thing that happens in stories. Maybe they're cotholders scraping to get by and he's ashamed. Maybe he beat up the man who despoiled his sister. Maybe he's someone's runaway heir. Who knows." "Or maybe he's one of the people we're supposed to be on our guard against." Dal leaves that possibility to hang in the air between them, though there's no sense from his expression that he's dismissing the likelihood of one of the less terrible options. His hands grasp more tightly to his mug; he gives N'rov a careful nod. "I remember hearing about the issues. Ellie took an interest. /She/ was interested in all the Fort Sea things, too, but that's longer ago. It must have been difficult, being from Boll yourself." "Maybe. 'Ellie'?" N'rov had been surveying the room as though every face could have been a possible backstory, but the name brings him back. "It wasn't easy, particularly when we had guardsmen locked up for part of the tithe having gone missing. But we," and there's a considerably more personal note, "got that solved in the end. Anything else on your mind, Dal, as long as we're sitting here?" "My wife." Dal lets that hang for a moment, but not with any particular emphasis: he's not going to let that be awkward. "She was a Harper." And he's /not/ a Harper, so while he's interested in N'rov's answer, he doesn't push for further information. "I don't know. I think I'm doing fine. I feel a bit old, compared to most of the other candidates, but that's no big thing. The Razi thing, that's the only thing that's really worrying me at the moment." N'rov's nod recognizes the significance of Dal's reply, but no. No awkward. "No wonder she was curious," he says instead. "I had some of that, sometimes, but there was E'ten and a couple others. And it must be different, coming from a household of her own. I'll be sure to pass that along, whatever I don't look into myself, and in the meantime I'll thank you for keeping your eyes open but not spreading rumor around. You don't seem like the sort who would, but I have to say it anyhow." Dal's gaze drops. "He nearly started a fight with me. Elise stopped it." His apology - his /shame/ - is unhappy, but honest. "I'll stay away from him. I won't say a word. I don't want to spread anything." Further. Shh. "Thank you, Sir. For listening. I appreciate it. I won't keep you. I'm probably supposed to still be at the dinner." "Damn, Dal. I'd have said, it's not like you have to stay away from him, but yeah, don't screw yourself over with it." N'rov grimaces. "I'll see what I can do. Definitely go eat." In the meantime, he'll finish his beer, and when he sees Dal's gone, rub his knuckles over what remains of his hair. How'd he get to be the go-to guy, anyway? |
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