[Kh'vrim] Ista's awesomely amazing Weyrleader.
RL Date: 8/17/10
IC Date: 7/6/23
Meeting Room, Ista Weyr
Clean, bold lines give the meeting room an air of formality. Oval is a recurring shape here, echoed in the simple chandelier that hangs from the high rounded ceiling, the beautiful oak table that rests directly beneath it and the dark orange rug with black fringe that covers the center of the floor. A dozen wooden chairs surround the table and extras stand waiting along each wall. To soften the effect of stone and wood, an old tapestry hangs on the west side of the room with shelves of scrolls and a stocked sideboard located across from it. There are sconces for torches or glows set into the stone walls at regular intervals.
A heavy door leads out to the lower caverns and a more private, curtained passage holds the stairs up the Weyrleaders' ledges.
Ista's awesomely amazing Weyrleader has been busy as usual and today he's spent most of his time doing paperwork and meetings in the, well, meeting room. Imagine that! Right now he's actually not doing anything and he's pouring himself a drink from where the nice booze is kept. Booze that he picks up to take back to the table where he's been settled in.
Almost before he's really in the room, Kh'vrim chimes in with, "Ah, beg pardon, son. I'm looking for the--" Awesomely amazing. "--Weyrleader." He glances briefly around the cavern, coming to a halt only a step or two into the room, slapping his riding gloves against his palm in an absent gesture to help pass the time while he surveys. Alas, his eyes glance across no one who looks like they might be a Weyrleader, and so they eventually return to Ch'son with an added, "You seen him? Somebody told me he'd been in here most of the day."
"Sure," says the casual one that's sitting himself down at the head of the meeting table. Ch'son takes a moment to glance over, situating his booze evidently taking some slight priority, but when he does it's with an arched brow. "You're lookin' at him, man. Can I help y' with somethin' or?" Or something.
Skepticism reigns, at least for a good ten or fifteen seconds after that pronouncement, as if Kh'vrim really really wants to ask 'are you sure you heard me right?' but isn't quite committed to being that potentially rude. "Am I? Sorry about that, then. I dunno why, but I thought you'd be taller." Anyway, he comes into the room more prominently and, after rummaging in the pockets of the riding coat he's got folded over an arm, explains, "I'm Kh'vrim, of Igen. Though I have a transfer order here that, except where it wants your signature, would make it 'Kh'vrim of Ista.'"
Now Ch'son has a reputation for being a little bit oblivious to certain things. But he seems to pick up on the skepticism, at least, because his expression gets a little tight, irritated. Of course he's the Weyrleader! "You sure you're in the right place? Maybe it's High Reaches' Weyrleader you're supposed t' be callin' on." That doesn't keep him from making a gesture for the order.
"No. No, it says Ista here." Kh'vrim starts to open the order, unfolding it and turning his frown down toward it now, similar to the frown he gave Ch'son just a second ago-- not /quite/ convinced. Then the order is taken from his hands, and he holds them emptily in front of him for just a moment, just long enough to acknowledge that they're empty and a look to the Weyrleader for his part in that. "'Please' also works," he adds in a blend of amusement and lingering skepticism; are we /sure/ he's the Weyrleader? But, yes, it is a legitimate transfer order.
"Please," Ch'son says belatedly, humoring the older man, gaze on the order rather than the other rider as he reads it over as though he has all the time in the world. "Voluntary?" he questions absently as he sets the order down in front of him and reaches for his drink before looking at Kh'vrim curiously.
While Ch'son reads, Kh'vrim takes in the scenery. He doesn't wander around or anything, just stands halfway down the table, hands folded on the top of the back of one of the chairs, gear settled there for now. "What's that?" he asks like he needs to be recalled to the matter at hand, looking away from the tapestry and back to the Weyrleader, blinking. "Yeah, voluntary. A man gets tired of cactus after cactus after twenty-odd Turns off it, y'know?" And he shrugs; "I figure, it's the Interval, I may as well take in the sights at other Weyrs, since there's nothing better to do."
"Wasn't sure if it was just that y' needed the humidity and heat and..." Ch'son's voice trails off before another thought has him questioning the older man further. "You have thoughts on who you're wantin' t' fly with?" Clearly not all that interested in hearing the bronzerider's life story and how he wants to live the rest of it. "You plannin' on transferin' again anytime soon?"
Kh'vrim, beneath knitted brows, "Is it important?" The matter of him transferring again. Ch'son is free to interpret that as a 'no,' by the way, suggested by the way he shakes his head afterward. "I haven't had the chance to make friends with all your Wingleaders, to tell you the truth. Besides, then I'd be doing your work for you, wouldn't I? I've been a Wingsecond at Igen for, oh, must be seven or eight years now. I was a Wingsecond when I came to Ista and saw you Impressed, and a few years before that, so. Wherever you think I'd be useful."
Ch'son doesn't answer on whether or not it's important. He asked it so, well, it ought to be considered as much. There's a slight snort when Kh'vrim says he'd be doing his work. Once the other is done with his spiel, Chaes leans forward and reaches for his pen to sign the order. Replacing his pen with his ink, he picks up the order and gives it a slight shake pushes it over the table slightly more in Kh'vrim's direction. "You can fly with Riptide for now."
Kh'vrim's spiel-- "The long and the short of that is to say. I know my way around a Wing, so whichever." Then it's Riptide, and, plucking the order back up off the table so it can be returned to Igen all signed proper-like, he adds, "Thanks. I'll do my best not to be a big disappointment to the Weyrleader's Wing." With some pomp lent to the title. Beneath the snicker, that is. "I'll leave to your drink, then?" The questioning lilt gives Ch'son the option to do be the one doing the dismissing.
"You do that," Ch'son says about him being a disappointment to Riptide. And if he gets the implication there (real or imagined), he's just going to ignore it for now. "Welcome to Ista, Kh'vrim. I'm sure we'll be happy to have you here." Or whatever. After that he returns his attention to his other work so that must be his chance at doing the dismissing.
"Pleasure to be here," answers Kh'vrim, waiting just a second longer in case there's a proper 'dismissed' or even a succinct 'bugger off.' But no, bundling up his gear, he tucks his order, eyes Ch'son and his work and his drink for a second or two longer, and takes his leave. He's got a lotta ladies to attend at Igen, after all, better get busy with those faretheewells.
IC Date: 7/6/23
Meeting Room, Ista Weyr
Clean, bold lines give the meeting room an air of formality. Oval is a recurring shape here, echoed in the simple chandelier that hangs from the high rounded ceiling, the beautiful oak table that rests directly beneath it and the dark orange rug with black fringe that covers the center of the floor. A dozen wooden chairs surround the table and extras stand waiting along each wall. To soften the effect of stone and wood, an old tapestry hangs on the west side of the room with shelves of scrolls and a stocked sideboard located across from it. There are sconces for torches or glows set into the stone walls at regular intervals.
A heavy door leads out to the lower caverns and a more private, curtained passage holds the stairs up the Weyrleaders' ledges.
Ista's awesomely amazing Weyrleader has been busy as usual and today he's spent most of his time doing paperwork and meetings in the, well, meeting room. Imagine that! Right now he's actually not doing anything and he's pouring himself a drink from where the nice booze is kept. Booze that he picks up to take back to the table where he's been settled in.
Almost before he's really in the room, Kh'vrim chimes in with, "Ah, beg pardon, son. I'm looking for the--" Awesomely amazing. "--Weyrleader." He glances briefly around the cavern, coming to a halt only a step or two into the room, slapping his riding gloves against his palm in an absent gesture to help pass the time while he surveys. Alas, his eyes glance across no one who looks like they might be a Weyrleader, and so they eventually return to Ch'son with an added, "You seen him? Somebody told me he'd been in here most of the day."
"Sure," says the casual one that's sitting himself down at the head of the meeting table. Ch'son takes a moment to glance over, situating his booze evidently taking some slight priority, but when he does it's with an arched brow. "You're lookin' at him, man. Can I help y' with somethin' or?" Or something.
Skepticism reigns, at least for a good ten or fifteen seconds after that pronouncement, as if Kh'vrim really really wants to ask 'are you sure you heard me right?' but isn't quite committed to being that potentially rude. "Am I? Sorry about that, then. I dunno why, but I thought you'd be taller." Anyway, he comes into the room more prominently and, after rummaging in the pockets of the riding coat he's got folded over an arm, explains, "I'm Kh'vrim, of Igen. Though I have a transfer order here that, except where it wants your signature, would make it 'Kh'vrim of Ista.'"
Now Ch'son has a reputation for being a little bit oblivious to certain things. But he seems to pick up on the skepticism, at least, because his expression gets a little tight, irritated. Of course he's the Weyrleader! "You sure you're in the right place? Maybe it's High Reaches' Weyrleader you're supposed t' be callin' on." That doesn't keep him from making a gesture for the order.
"No. No, it says Ista here." Kh'vrim starts to open the order, unfolding it and turning his frown down toward it now, similar to the frown he gave Ch'son just a second ago-- not /quite/ convinced. Then the order is taken from his hands, and he holds them emptily in front of him for just a moment, just long enough to acknowledge that they're empty and a look to the Weyrleader for his part in that. "'Please' also works," he adds in a blend of amusement and lingering skepticism; are we /sure/ he's the Weyrleader? But, yes, it is a legitimate transfer order.
"Please," Ch'son says belatedly, humoring the older man, gaze on the order rather than the other rider as he reads it over as though he has all the time in the world. "Voluntary?" he questions absently as he sets the order down in front of him and reaches for his drink before looking at Kh'vrim curiously.
While Ch'son reads, Kh'vrim takes in the scenery. He doesn't wander around or anything, just stands halfway down the table, hands folded on the top of the back of one of the chairs, gear settled there for now. "What's that?" he asks like he needs to be recalled to the matter at hand, looking away from the tapestry and back to the Weyrleader, blinking. "Yeah, voluntary. A man gets tired of cactus after cactus after twenty-odd Turns off it, y'know?" And he shrugs; "I figure, it's the Interval, I may as well take in the sights at other Weyrs, since there's nothing better to do."
"Wasn't sure if it was just that y' needed the humidity and heat and..." Ch'son's voice trails off before another thought has him questioning the older man further. "You have thoughts on who you're wantin' t' fly with?" Clearly not all that interested in hearing the bronzerider's life story and how he wants to live the rest of it. "You plannin' on transferin' again anytime soon?"
Kh'vrim, beneath knitted brows, "Is it important?" The matter of him transferring again. Ch'son is free to interpret that as a 'no,' by the way, suggested by the way he shakes his head afterward. "I haven't had the chance to make friends with all your Wingleaders, to tell you the truth. Besides, then I'd be doing your work for you, wouldn't I? I've been a Wingsecond at Igen for, oh, must be seven or eight years now. I was a Wingsecond when I came to Ista and saw you Impressed, and a few years before that, so. Wherever you think I'd be useful."
Ch'son doesn't answer on whether or not it's important. He asked it so, well, it ought to be considered as much. There's a slight snort when Kh'vrim says he'd be doing his work. Once the other is done with his spiel, Chaes leans forward and reaches for his pen to sign the order. Replacing his pen with his ink, he picks up the order and gives it a slight shake pushes it over the table slightly more in Kh'vrim's direction. "You can fly with Riptide for now."
Kh'vrim's spiel-- "The long and the short of that is to say. I know my way around a Wing, so whichever." Then it's Riptide, and, plucking the order back up off the table so it can be returned to Igen all signed proper-like, he adds, "Thanks. I'll do my best not to be a big disappointment to the Weyrleader's Wing." With some pomp lent to the title. Beneath the snicker, that is. "I'll leave to your drink, then?" The questioning lilt gives Ch'son the option to do be the one doing the dismissing.
"You do that," Ch'son says about him being a disappointment to Riptide. And if he gets the implication there (real or imagined), he's just going to ignore it for now. "Welcome to Ista, Kh'vrim. I'm sure we'll be happy to have you here." Or whatever. After that he returns his attention to his other work so that must be his chance at doing the dismissing.
"Pleasure to be here," answers Kh'vrim, waiting just a second longer in case there's a proper 'dismissed' or even a succinct 'bugger off.' But no, bundling up his gear, he tucks his order, eyes Ch'son and his work and his drink for a second or two longer, and takes his leave. He's got a lotta ladies to attend at Igen, after all, better get busy with those faretheewells.