Do Edeline and N'thei have a deal?
RL Date: 9/8/08
IC Date: 9/10/17 --Lifted this log from Edeline. :)
Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr(#364RJs)
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.
By the time N'thei sends for Edeline, by the time a shuffling caverns girl arrives to extricate the Tillekian from Hayda, the tithe train has long since returned to the Hold. It's just shy of a week later, time enough for Edeline to have "tasted" life at the Reaches and no doubt heard one rumor and another about the nature of the Weyrleader, when word comes that "N'thei's waiting in the council room, and I can take you there if you're not sure how to find it." And, as promised, he's waiting there. He must have been working up until the evening settled in full, until it actually became late, and he's just now setting aside some of that work to wait with patient eyes rested on the entrance from the weyrleaders' anteroom.
Edeline's entrance is every bit as straight-backed as all of her others have been in various places around High Reaches; every bit as proper and respectful as her initial arrival was. For a holder lass, she doesn't cringe as much as another might upon first entering the council room, nor does she look particularly afraid, nervous or anxious. There's a calmness about her that's rather at odds with her posture, her uplifted chin, her politely neutral expression. "Weyrleader N'thei, " she says at last, dipping her chin to him, just slightly. "You requested to see me." Eyebrows lift with gentle inquiry, expectation.
"I did." N'thei stands, so polite, with his fingers steepled on the table in front of him still. Whatever he might have heard of Edeline, he still takes the time to study her with the length of the table in between, to absorb her posture and poise with a look that spares no pretense: he's measuring Tillek's daughter against expectations, against her usefulness, before he comes around the table to pull out a chair so graciously. Forthright, his hands on the back of that chair; "Do we need to take the time to make-nice, or just go right to why-you're-here?"
The observed watches the observer, too; it's a two-way street, this business of appraising people. Her expression, however, does not shift. Edeline flicks a glance to the pulled out chair, flicks a glance to the owner of the hands on the back of it. "You've already begun, " she says at some length with another glance for his hands before she settles into the seat. "You already know that Tillek sends greetings; I am already aware that High Reaches would do likewise." Making-nice, check. "You requested to see me, " she repeats again, complete with the same eyebrow lift. She does smile, though, if but a little.
N'thei's fingers stay a moment longer on the back of the chair, linger even once it's occupied; so subtle a thing, the effect at once to possess the chair, the room, the girl. And then he's back around the table again, sitting, watching Edeline with an expression that's hardly as hers; he lets his amusement with propriety show in the dryness of a smile, in the dullness of lead-gray eyes that rest heavily on his guest. "I'm in the business of ale, miss, specifically of buying a brewhold, and Tillek controls all the ones worth having. You stand to inherit the Hold one day." Almost, /almost/ like a question. Doesn't she?
Edeline's own smile, sincere, tinges wry as she listens, chin turning slightly to slant him a sideways look. "The business of ale, " she echoes, brows lifting with something akin to surprise - or is that amusement, too? Perhaps both. Whichever the case, her smile lessens slightly after a moment, expression briefly thoughtful. "One of my father's children, " she corrects, just so, "stands to inherit the Hold, Weyrleader. He has not yet named a successor, as you well know." An almost question deserves an almost-but-not-quite answer.
"So." N'thei's smile smooths out gradually, turns from that bland amusement to a colder entertainment-- entertainment at someone else's expense. Namely Edeline's. "I should be having this conversation with... what's the boy's name? The one he's adopted?" Even the narrow of his eyes, even the pretend-thought he puts into it can't cover the smirk that answers her not-quite answer. "Want to do business with Tillek, miss. If I can't get what I want from you, least you can do is tell me who can help me. Seeing as my Weyr's being very hospitable with you, neh?"
That gets a reaction from the young woman, finally. It's there in the slight flickering of her expression, the just visible narrowing of her eyes. "He wouldn't give you what you want." Low, certain. Edeline's head tilts vaguely forward; yes, the Weyr /has/ been hospitable. "Supposing, " she says after a bit, "that you were able to do business with Tillek to acquire a brewhold. What might you offer in exchange?" Purely hypothetical situation.
Subtlety be damned; "And you can?" Get him what he wants. N'thei holds a look on Edeline a long moment after the words fall, a challenge, a doubt, the stretch of his lips angling toward the mockery of a frown before her hypothetical takes precedence. "Money, first and foremost. And of course--" Most importantly, leaning forward in turn to match her posture, to make every effort to hold her narrowed eyes on his; "A Weyrleader's gratitude might come in handy, for the right person."
"Lady Tillek, " Edeline pronounces carefully, almost stiffly, "gives people what they want, Weyrleader. I, " and her eyes don't stray from his, "would much rather come to a - suitably mutual agreement. Nothing comes freely." Especially not a brewhold. "Money, " she considers, "and a Weyrleader's gratitude." Beat. "That might be a beneficial arrangement, if one of that nature took place." His brewhold just might rest with the Lord's succession announcement.
N'thei scratches his thumbnail across his lower lip for a time, never looks away from Edeline even when it's obvious that he's utterly lost in his own thoughts. By the time she gets to beneficial-arrangement, his smile pulls again and he shakes his head, one hand on the table to help push him to his feet. "Not looking to get something for nothing, but let's be blunt. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Talk to your father, convince him to do business with me. And what support the Weyr can offer your bid for succession, we will." The question that prompts raised eyebrows and tilted head is obvious: Have they got a deal? "Or I'll go to your stepbrother and offer him the same deal, would bet my ass he won't balk."
Edeline regards N'thei evenly enough as he makes his blunt proposal; she gets to her feet, too.
"A beneficial arrangement, indeed, " she says at last, chin lifting a tad in silent agreement. "A veritable expert on ale, you must be, " she can't help adding, "to desire your own brewhold so strongly." Ale, not ale-making. His much touted reputation must have at least some basis in truth, however exaggerated.
N'thei answers the remark, the accusation that colors it, with a smile that probably would have been handsome before his face bore the brunt of too much threadfall. Now it's pleasant enough after an evening of smirks-and-frowns back and forth across the table. He doesn't even do the thank-you-for-your-time bit that ought to cap off such a meeting, only drags his fingers across the tabletop while he comes to stand at the end of it, to wait with the expectation of Edeline's departure.
Edeline's smile does her speaking for her: that's as she thought, of course. He may not extend verbal pleasantries to end their meeting with, but she isn't above doing so, even if it's just a simple, "Weyrleader, " tipped his way with another nod. Head high and posture unchanged from her entrance, she strides out with the measured pace of one who's accustomed to having a couple of others behind her trying to keep up.
N'thei watches her go. Openly. And stays behind well after she's gone, on the business of procuring a brewhold now that his foot's the in door, one might presume?
IC Date: 9/10/17 --Lifted this log from Edeline. :)
Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr(#364RJs)
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.
By the time N'thei sends for Edeline, by the time a shuffling caverns girl arrives to extricate the Tillekian from Hayda, the tithe train has long since returned to the Hold. It's just shy of a week later, time enough for Edeline to have "tasted" life at the Reaches and no doubt heard one rumor and another about the nature of the Weyrleader, when word comes that "N'thei's waiting in the council room, and I can take you there if you're not sure how to find it." And, as promised, he's waiting there. He must have been working up until the evening settled in full, until it actually became late, and he's just now setting aside some of that work to wait with patient eyes rested on the entrance from the weyrleaders' anteroom.
Edeline's entrance is every bit as straight-backed as all of her others have been in various places around High Reaches; every bit as proper and respectful as her initial arrival was. For a holder lass, she doesn't cringe as much as another might upon first entering the council room, nor does she look particularly afraid, nervous or anxious. There's a calmness about her that's rather at odds with her posture, her uplifted chin, her politely neutral expression. "Weyrleader N'thei, " she says at last, dipping her chin to him, just slightly. "You requested to see me." Eyebrows lift with gentle inquiry, expectation.
"I did." N'thei stands, so polite, with his fingers steepled on the table in front of him still. Whatever he might have heard of Edeline, he still takes the time to study her with the length of the table in between, to absorb her posture and poise with a look that spares no pretense: he's measuring Tillek's daughter against expectations, against her usefulness, before he comes around the table to pull out a chair so graciously. Forthright, his hands on the back of that chair; "Do we need to take the time to make-nice, or just go right to why-you're-here?"
The observed watches the observer, too; it's a two-way street, this business of appraising people. Her expression, however, does not shift. Edeline flicks a glance to the pulled out chair, flicks a glance to the owner of the hands on the back of it. "You've already begun, " she says at some length with another glance for his hands before she settles into the seat. "You already know that Tillek sends greetings; I am already aware that High Reaches would do likewise." Making-nice, check. "You requested to see me, " she repeats again, complete with the same eyebrow lift. She does smile, though, if but a little.
N'thei's fingers stay a moment longer on the back of the chair, linger even once it's occupied; so subtle a thing, the effect at once to possess the chair, the room, the girl. And then he's back around the table again, sitting, watching Edeline with an expression that's hardly as hers; he lets his amusement with propriety show in the dryness of a smile, in the dullness of lead-gray eyes that rest heavily on his guest. "I'm in the business of ale, miss, specifically of buying a brewhold, and Tillek controls all the ones worth having. You stand to inherit the Hold one day." Almost, /almost/ like a question. Doesn't she?
Edeline's own smile, sincere, tinges wry as she listens, chin turning slightly to slant him a sideways look. "The business of ale, " she echoes, brows lifting with something akin to surprise - or is that amusement, too? Perhaps both. Whichever the case, her smile lessens slightly after a moment, expression briefly thoughtful. "One of my father's children, " she corrects, just so, "stands to inherit the Hold, Weyrleader. He has not yet named a successor, as you well know." An almost question deserves an almost-but-not-quite answer.
"So." N'thei's smile smooths out gradually, turns from that bland amusement to a colder entertainment-- entertainment at someone else's expense. Namely Edeline's. "I should be having this conversation with... what's the boy's name? The one he's adopted?" Even the narrow of his eyes, even the pretend-thought he puts into it can't cover the smirk that answers her not-quite answer. "Want to do business with Tillek, miss. If I can't get what I want from you, least you can do is tell me who can help me. Seeing as my Weyr's being very hospitable with you, neh?"
That gets a reaction from the young woman, finally. It's there in the slight flickering of her expression, the just visible narrowing of her eyes. "He wouldn't give you what you want." Low, certain. Edeline's head tilts vaguely forward; yes, the Weyr /has/ been hospitable. "Supposing, " she says after a bit, "that you were able to do business with Tillek to acquire a brewhold. What might you offer in exchange?" Purely hypothetical situation.
Subtlety be damned; "And you can?" Get him what he wants. N'thei holds a look on Edeline a long moment after the words fall, a challenge, a doubt, the stretch of his lips angling toward the mockery of a frown before her hypothetical takes precedence. "Money, first and foremost. And of course--" Most importantly, leaning forward in turn to match her posture, to make every effort to hold her narrowed eyes on his; "A Weyrleader's gratitude might come in handy, for the right person."
"Lady Tillek, " Edeline pronounces carefully, almost stiffly, "gives people what they want, Weyrleader. I, " and her eyes don't stray from his, "would much rather come to a - suitably mutual agreement. Nothing comes freely." Especially not a brewhold. "Money, " she considers, "and a Weyrleader's gratitude." Beat. "That might be a beneficial arrangement, if one of that nature took place." His brewhold just might rest with the Lord's succession announcement.
N'thei scratches his thumbnail across his lower lip for a time, never looks away from Edeline even when it's obvious that he's utterly lost in his own thoughts. By the time she gets to beneficial-arrangement, his smile pulls again and he shakes his head, one hand on the table to help push him to his feet. "Not looking to get something for nothing, but let's be blunt. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Talk to your father, convince him to do business with me. And what support the Weyr can offer your bid for succession, we will." The question that prompts raised eyebrows and tilted head is obvious: Have they got a deal? "Or I'll go to your stepbrother and offer him the same deal, would bet my ass he won't balk."
Edeline regards N'thei evenly enough as he makes his blunt proposal; she gets to her feet, too.
"A beneficial arrangement, indeed, " she says at last, chin lifting a tad in silent agreement. "A veritable expert on ale, you must be, " she can't help adding, "to desire your own brewhold so strongly." Ale, not ale-making. His much touted reputation must have at least some basis in truth, however exaggerated.
N'thei answers the remark, the accusation that colors it, with a smile that probably would have been handsome before his face bore the brunt of too much threadfall. Now it's pleasant enough after an evening of smirks-and-frowns back and forth across the table. He doesn't even do the thank-you-for-your-time bit that ought to cap off such a meeting, only drags his fingers across the tabletop while he comes to stand at the end of it, to wait with the expectation of Edeline's departure.
Edeline's smile does her speaking for her: that's as she thought, of course. He may not extend verbal pleasantries to end their meeting with, but she isn't above doing so, even if it's just a simple, "Weyrleader, " tipped his way with another nod. Head high and posture unchanged from her entrance, she strides out with the measured pace of one who's accustomed to having a couple of others behind her trying to keep up.
N'thei watches her go. Openly. And stays behind well after she's gone, on the business of procuring a brewhold now that his foot's the in door, one might presume?