[Log] Sleuthing
Who: Elgin, Tiriana
When: Day 6, Month 1, Turn 26
Where: Council Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: Elgin wants answers.
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.
Obvious exits:
[closet] Records Room Weyrleader Complex
Some days after the flight, Tiriana is still looking quite a lot more pregnant than her dragon. While Iovniath is out on their ledge, enjoying the cold winter, the Weyrwoman is in the council room, a brazier pulled up by her chair while she leans over her work.
Elgin is not enjoying the cold winter, at least not the cold part. The bundled up exile wanders in from the cold. He pauses for a moment at the entrance, watching the goldrider work for a moment before continuing in. "Weyrwoman?" Is asked softly but not meekly. "Do you have a moment?" He squares his shoulders, and held between his hands is a fold sheet parchment.
"Come in," Tiriana replies, almost before she can even register the request. Her work's shoved away and she half-turns, eager to see just who's come to distract her. Except, she's a little crestfallen to see Elgin--that, and a little confused. Her brows furrow. "You. What do you want?"
"Thanks for the greeting I expected. It is nice not to be surprised." Elgin grins and takes a few more steps into the Council Chambers. "You seem like a very straight to the point kind of person, and I respect that, so let me get right to it." He is close to the table now, hands on th back of a chair with an air of ease, but he doesn't sit. "I want to know what is going on." Is said matter-of-factly. "Not all of the 'exile's want to be here, as can be seen by their attempting to run away, and most of your people don't want us here." He pauses, a lopsided smile on his face while he waits for her reaction.
"Anytime," Tiriana replies, with a smirk. "Have a seat?" She nods toward the big chairs, leaning back in her own as she regards him. "I've been here for nearly a decade now, it seems like. We've had open rebellion, murdered Lords, raiders, meteorites, convicts... Is it so surprising, nobody wants to deal with /exiles/ now, too?"
Elgin raises an eyebrow as he listens to her list off the problems the weyr has had while she was in charge, his lips draw into a thin line, but he refrains from saying anything for now. He does however, take her offer of the seat, tucking the parchment under his arm and settling into the chair. When she has finished he shakes his head, "Not surprising at all." He crosses one leg over his thigh, playing lightly with his ankle bone, "So why do you? When those under you are rather open about us being 'smell', 'inbred' and 'a drain on the weyr's resources?'" During parts of his question he seems to be quoting something, but for now he says nothing.
Tiriana shrugs. "The goodness of our hearts, of course," she answers with a smirk. "Doing the right thing is its own reward." Okay, she can't keep that up. She snorts. "Because you seem to have fallen into my lap and I'll be damned if I'm going to just run scared now."
"That is very sweet of you," Elgin smirks at the goldrider, but seems to take no offense to it. "That would make sense except why keep the run-aways? If they want to leave a make a life for themselves why not let them. Might make your riders happier. And isn't your allegiance to this place, not us." He pauses, playing with the corners of the paper he has, "And I know you are a smart woman, and a smarter leader, which makes me wonder what is really worth pissing off your people." He scoots the paper across the table, "This was written to you. I'm just delievering it." Clearly he has already read it. He crosses his arms, "Look. I'm trying to keep this calm in the barracks. I don't even trust we are getting the full story," Or any really, "from our own leadership."
Tiriana puffs up a little at the praise; no surprise there. But the letter that's pushed across earns a frown, and she leans forward to read it, lips pursing. "Because we don't trust people who would try to run away from a perfectly good home, not to go around causing more trouble. Faranth, you don't even know how to support yourself now," she drawls, shaking her head. "We're the good guys here. Nobody ever seems to believe that."
"Hmmph." Elgin snorts softly, "No one?" Is asked as he raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to oneside, indicating that she may be making a similiar mistake. "Have you had any other problems with them? Especially Celadrion..." He pauses, "The one with the weapon when your guards went barging in?" He leans back in the chair, "Have you asked G'deon who kept the peace at the turn party the other night?" Clearly, he is indicating himself. "I'm not going to say it will go back to chaos from us if you don't give me answers, I want those of us down their to live as peacefully as possible too, but it would be helpful we knew anything about what was going on. It certainly would help me help you and us."
Elgin pages: I just heard the loudest thunder ever, so if I go out it is because the weather suddenly just turned into the perfect storm.
Tiriana, her mouth tightening, notes, "You'll want to tread very carefully here, or I might think you're threatening me." She looks at him for another long moment with narrowed eyes. "We keep you here because no one else wants you. Because they'll pay us to keep you, and because it's an interval and we need every hand and every bit of help we can get. Give it another hundred turns and we'll probably be living in squalor as much as you."
Elgin sighs and mumbles under his breath, "It's like no one around here listens," He frowns softly, "That is why I said I /wouldn't/ do that. Do people not tell the truth around here a lot or something?" He raises an eyebrow slightly, "You keep us here instead of letting those who want to go back to their "squalor" go back because you are getting paid? Economic." He seems to accept that answer without too much trouble but as he thinks about it he frowns deeply, "That doesn't explain why our leaders agree to it..." He studies her, he lets the sentence trail off.
Tiriana shrugs. "They know what's best," she notes. "It's part of being a leader: sometimes you have to protect people from themselves. Otherwise, you end up with people doing stupid shit and getting themselves killed, and nobody wants to have to clean that up."
Elgin laughs, "Yah? Who is watching our leaders? Not telling people things is what makes them do crazy things, like try and run." He shrugs, "It was one thing when we were there, but now we, or at least a couple of us, understand that things aren't just what they seemed." He stands up but doesn't make a movement to the door, "I appreciate your honesty, Weyrwoman."
"They don't answer to you, boy." That response is cold at best, her mouth setting. "And they don't have to explain themselves any more than I do. We oblige when we wish, and that's all."
"I wouldn't suggest that they do." Still Elgin smirks slightly, "And I appreciate the indulgence." He bows his head slightly with a thin grin. "It was a pleasure, weyrwoman." The young male excuses himself from the chambers.