[LOG] - Weylaughn: In Pursuit of Knowledge
Title: In Pursuit of Knowledge
Summary: Weylaughn pokes his nose into the Records Room and finds trouble in the form of Edyis.
Characters: Edyis, Weylaughn
Location: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr
Time: Day 28, month 9, turn 35 of Interval 10
RL Date: 09/07/2014
Rain has driven most indoors, and the particularly studious, (or overworked) might find themselves wandering the shelves of Reaches own records room. Master Jeroman is surprisingly absent today, leaving his assistant to do the brunt of the work. The scents of ink, hide, and paper permeate the air. At the tall desk, a younger woman is keenly at work, a clay jar of brushes and pens and a tray of assorted inkbottles off to one side, softly humming as she works. The rest of the room is mostly empty with a few strays here and there studying. Dark eyes lift every so often to scan the room, Edyis keeping careful eye to ensure that precious records aren't accidentally damaged in the process.
Blame it on the rain. There must surely be no other reason why Weylaughn would be indoors - but here? He steps inside with feline-quiet footfalls and pauses just to one side of the entrance of it. The young man undoes his hooded cloak and finds somewhere safe to put it, while he surveys the room. He purses his lips thoughtfully and starts to take a step properly inside the room, until he spots the young woman at the tall desk. An appraising look yields a dazzling smile from the man; he pivots just so on a heel and strides directly toward her, arms behind his back and with a stiff posture that speaks rather plainly of his upbringing. That expectant look and slightly raised eyebrows - yeah, that's part of the upbringing, too.
It is only after the careful line of neat and graceful script is copied that she even acknowledges the man. It probably isn't intended as a slight, more a description of her priorities. A quick study of him, and perhaps a small spark of recognition before with a smile (whether forced or genuine would be impossible to determine)she asks. "May I assist you?" Curious, as the tools of her trade are gently set aside for the moment.
The delay doesn't seem to cause his smile to flag - but there's no doubt that it's noted by the slight twisting of his brow. Wey rocks back just a little on his heels, then straightens up again. "I suppose you may," he replies. His accent is Cromese, of course, accented just a little with something else; just a hint of a dialectical twist. "I'm looking for, ah-" And here's where it's more or less apparent that he's probably not as sure of what he's after as he seems, since there's a drawn out 'ahhh' until: "well, records, I guess. I'm not sure what you might have about the relations between Crom Hold and your fine Weyr here"
Perhaps it's the phrasing of the question, or even the accent itself which draws her attention more sharply dark eyes focusing intently upon the man and his grey eyes. Her tone does not lose its warmth or cordiality but there's an edge of something in it. "And just what would one of Lord Aughan's vassals want with our dusty old records." It's almost flirtatious, possibly even charming.
There's a renewed knotting of his eyebrows and, this time, his smile flags just a little. Weylaughn is quick to patch the slippage, though, and he offers the recordskeeper a shallow half bow and bob of his head. "I was raised on the history of this Weyr and the Hold that I should have been born at," he replies readily enough. He draws a bit closer to the desk, hands still locked behind his back and shoulders still squared. "I'm curious to see if how I was taught fits with what truly happened. That's all." Ah, and there's that smile, dialing right back up to brilliance. "I don't suppose you," and, oh, the subtle weight on that word, "might be able to help me?"
"An interesting notion in its own way." She smiles, "The hold you should have been born at, the weyr you should have been born into. Curious choices in wording, what tiny fact is it that has you so very curious? Surely not records of tithe, if you are not one of Aughan's vassals?" Edyis presses her fingers to her apron cleaning away the ink with care.
"No, no. Don't get me wrong; as much as I've adored my stay at your Weyr," Weylaughn's words are positively purred, "it's not my rightful place. Not according to my mother, at any rate." His head tilts, just so, at an inquisitive angle; it might even straighten out the lopsided tipping of his smile. "Everything intrigues me about it, but the tithing records are a fine start. I've seen- oh, everything at Crom. The official announcements, the tithing records - those offend me most, I think. I do wonder if their records match with yours - and, if they do- ah." His nose wrinkles. "If they do, then I might need to speak with the Weyrleaders even more quickly than I thought."
"Are you one of those who hold the opinion that the Weyr takes more than its rightful due?" It isn't accusatory, in fact the words are incredibly neutral for all that they might imply. "Surely you can do better than that; there must be something far more interesting if you are wasting your charm on a records keeper." She purrs in return, leaning in close enough that the last doesn't carry further than the two. "What has you so curious; or rather what is it you think you will find?"
He has no trouble rolling up on the balls of his feet and leaning in, lending just a hint of a conspiratorial air to the conversation. Wey shakes his head with a lesser species of incredulity and states, "No. I think the Weyr is due more than it receives - and I would not be surprised to see that Crom is sending far less than it says it ought." There is an earnesty to him that's difficult to deny; for all of his charm, there are some things that simply cannot be replicated easily. His smile goes tilted again and he, finally, lifts a hand to rest it just at the lip of the desk, fingers curled to keep them out of trouble. "I just need to make sure I fully understand things here before I speak to the Weyrleaders. That's all. It's- ah. It's a family matter, you could say. And I want nothing more than to see to it that the Weyr gets all it's due, despite the efforts of my- ah. Despite the efforts of Lord Aughan." Naturally, he's quick to add, "And it's hardly a waste of my charms, regardless."
The laugh that rolls so easily at the implication, "Lord Aughan is not a careless man, nor is he the type of fool to let such sensitive information be seen carelessly." The words spoken with the air of someone who has seen firsthand evidence of it, "So what kind of family matter would it be that would involve a man born of neither Weyr nor Crom Hold." The tone of conspirator remaining as Edyis speaks.
"Are you so sure?" Wey's brows lift just a little. "He's not the only one with a grip on that information. He isn't the one that counts each item, records it, and loads it, after all. A hundred hands are on those tithes - or more." But there's a one-shouldered shrug and a light rap of knuckles laid on the desk before he withdraws a step. "And my mother knows people there," of this, he is utterly convinced. "She's seen them, too," which is tossed out and deftly thrown away as the conspiratorial tones persist. To that, finally, he can't quite contain the attempt at secrecy. His manner is utterly serious, his expression settling out into one of grim certainty. "That of a man sired at Crom Hold - and who should be next in line to rule it and right the wrongs of his father. That's the kind of family matter all of this is."
As he steps away, Edyis shifts to move in the direction of the shelves, indicating he could follow, her expression softening as she does. "No, he isn't but," a beat before she continues. "If you intend to present it to leadership, you need more proof than the words of a woman scorned. If Crom is withholding tithes they need to know. But if you wish for them to follow through, you will need irrefutable proof."
"No. I want to read so -I- know. I'm not here to discuss whether the tithes are being withheld," Weylaughn explains, "but to understand the situation here thoroughly. What I need from the Weyrleaders is... support." The word is rolled around and ultimately used, but the slight pull of his mouth to one side suggests it's not quite right for his tastes. He'll follow, of course, with a measured stride that falls just shy of casual. "Admittedly, if they are withholding tithes, that's another matter, but- ah. Consider it a point of curiosity from one who is deeply curious and with a vested interest in making sure this Weyr is not mistreated as it has been in the past."
Edyis curves a brow, "Support, as in overthrowing Lord Aughan, or staking a claim on succession?" She frowns deeply, softness fading into something sterner. "Nabol was issue enough, and it's a hold matter. Lord Aughan isn't to be trifled with, nor Lady Ienavi. If you are looking for someone to solidify some claim to a higher rank and position you are in the wrong place." Edyis gives a breath of disappointment, as she studies the shelf looking for a particular volume, fingertips brushing the spines as she searches.
To that, however, he gives no immediate answer. Wey just shakes his head and continues to follow her like a very peculiar shadow. A very quiet one, for that - at least when he's not talking. "It is. I'm aware of how things work. But to think that they can't offer some suggestions or aid in other ways would be..." he trails, motioning vaguely with a hand. "As I said, it's something I'll be discussing with them more fully." The implications are clear enough in those words, even if they are offered in mild tones. "I'm just here to get out of the rain and get some interesting reading material, in the end." Ah, but the seriousness dissolves in short order, with a smile tweaking at the corners of his mouth. "And, possibly a drinking companion later this evening." Yes, that -is- a sidelong look shot her way.
"It isn't likely to be helpful. Holder Conclave decides issues of succession. You'd have more luck cozying up with one of Aughan's enemies or someone with the pull inside the conclave doors." A small sound escapes as she locates the volume she is looking for. "As for reading, you might have more interest and get better use out of this volume than the tithing records." If taken or perused, it would list the genealogies of most of the major houses in the High Reaches sweeps area complete with additions and notations on the exiles. "That depends on the drinks and the company."
"Perhaps," he's willing to concede. "But- ah." Wey dismisses it with a wave of his hand, a gesture that's perilously imperious in a strange way. The book is offered, flipped through, and the result is perhaps not as anticipated. Instead, there's an arching of his eyebrows and a slight shift of his smile; it's subtle, really, but any charm he was exuding before has begun to cool. It's not entirely gone - but for all of his training and education, the matter of building patience was clearly neglected. "I do not -need- this. Crom's library is not lacking in this information - nor is the Harpers's. I suppose I could go find what I'm looking for or ask after someone who -will- help me." And of the drinks and company? Well. He's not giving the book back, now that it's been given. "At any rate. Later tonight at the Snowasis if you're inclined. Benden wine, of course - and myself," which, of course, is a given as far as he's concerned. "I'll return this, then."
His may cool, but hers remains, as she leans over in a low tone to murmur. "Well it is the best I can do for someone who won't tell me what It is they are really looking for. If you want better options, you have to play the game." The invitation is met with a smile, as she steps away to head to her station. "This whole section is dedicated to Crom. If you're looking for discrepancies though, I thought you might like to look there first."
"I'm fairly certain 'tithing records' was clearly stated a time or three." Maybe just two. Counting: not Weylaughn's forte at the moment. If he's a bit exasperated, so be it. "If I wanted anything else, I'd have asked." Or, more likely, find it himself. The cooling of charm is brief, at least; as the section is indicated, his smile returns as before - just as earnest as can be and he offers her another of those half-bows with the book tucked under an arm. "Many thanks to you," whose name he didn't get, of course, and certainly doesn't seem cunning enough to pursue. "I'll have to come back another time to properly peruse - when it's not raining so heavily." He'll give a cursory look, of course, but the one book? That's all he seems intent on carrying with him for now. Rather telling, that.
"Keep it dry please." She comments lightly, returning to her work. Not bothering to give her name either. There's a strange smirk that remains as she returns to the work, and she will be sure to reclaim that book later on, as well as the promise of Benden wine.
Summary: Weylaughn pokes his nose into the Records Room and finds trouble in the form of Edyis.
Characters: Edyis, Weylaughn
Location: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr
Time: Day 28, month 9, turn 35 of Interval 10
RL Date: 09/07/2014
Rain has driven most indoors, and the particularly studious, (or overworked) might find themselves wandering the shelves of Reaches own records room. Master Jeroman is surprisingly absent today, leaving his assistant to do the brunt of the work. The scents of ink, hide, and paper permeate the air. At the tall desk, a younger woman is keenly at work, a clay jar of brushes and pens and a tray of assorted inkbottles off to one side, softly humming as she works. The rest of the room is mostly empty with a few strays here and there studying. Dark eyes lift every so often to scan the room, Edyis keeping careful eye to ensure that precious records aren't accidentally damaged in the process.
Blame it on the rain. There must surely be no other reason why Weylaughn would be indoors - but here? He steps inside with feline-quiet footfalls and pauses just to one side of the entrance of it. The young man undoes his hooded cloak and finds somewhere safe to put it, while he surveys the room. He purses his lips thoughtfully and starts to take a step properly inside the room, until he spots the young woman at the tall desk. An appraising look yields a dazzling smile from the man; he pivots just so on a heel and strides directly toward her, arms behind his back and with a stiff posture that speaks rather plainly of his upbringing. That expectant look and slightly raised eyebrows - yeah, that's part of the upbringing, too.
It is only after the careful line of neat and graceful script is copied that she even acknowledges the man. It probably isn't intended as a slight, more a description of her priorities. A quick study of him, and perhaps a small spark of recognition before with a smile (whether forced or genuine would be impossible to determine)she asks. "May I assist you?" Curious, as the tools of her trade are gently set aside for the moment.
The delay doesn't seem to cause his smile to flag - but there's no doubt that it's noted by the slight twisting of his brow. Wey rocks back just a little on his heels, then straightens up again. "I suppose you may," he replies. His accent is Cromese, of course, accented just a little with something else; just a hint of a dialectical twist. "I'm looking for, ah-" And here's where it's more or less apparent that he's probably not as sure of what he's after as he seems, since there's a drawn out 'ahhh' until: "well, records, I guess. I'm not sure what you might have about the relations between Crom Hold and your fine Weyr here"
Perhaps it's the phrasing of the question, or even the accent itself which draws her attention more sharply dark eyes focusing intently upon the man and his grey eyes. Her tone does not lose its warmth or cordiality but there's an edge of something in it. "And just what would one of Lord Aughan's vassals want with our dusty old records." It's almost flirtatious, possibly even charming.
There's a renewed knotting of his eyebrows and, this time, his smile flags just a little. Weylaughn is quick to patch the slippage, though, and he offers the recordskeeper a shallow half bow and bob of his head. "I was raised on the history of this Weyr and the Hold that I should have been born at," he replies readily enough. He draws a bit closer to the desk, hands still locked behind his back and shoulders still squared. "I'm curious to see if how I was taught fits with what truly happened. That's all." Ah, and there's that smile, dialing right back up to brilliance. "I don't suppose you," and, oh, the subtle weight on that word, "might be able to help me?"
"An interesting notion in its own way." She smiles, "The hold you should have been born at, the weyr you should have been born into. Curious choices in wording, what tiny fact is it that has you so very curious? Surely not records of tithe, if you are not one of Aughan's vassals?" Edyis presses her fingers to her apron cleaning away the ink with care.
"No, no. Don't get me wrong; as much as I've adored my stay at your Weyr," Weylaughn's words are positively purred, "it's not my rightful place. Not according to my mother, at any rate." His head tilts, just so, at an inquisitive angle; it might even straighten out the lopsided tipping of his smile. "Everything intrigues me about it, but the tithing records are a fine start. I've seen- oh, everything at Crom. The official announcements, the tithing records - those offend me most, I think. I do wonder if their records match with yours - and, if they do- ah." His nose wrinkles. "If they do, then I might need to speak with the Weyrleaders even more quickly than I thought."
"Are you one of those who hold the opinion that the Weyr takes more than its rightful due?" It isn't accusatory, in fact the words are incredibly neutral for all that they might imply. "Surely you can do better than that; there must be something far more interesting if you are wasting your charm on a records keeper." She purrs in return, leaning in close enough that the last doesn't carry further than the two. "What has you so curious; or rather what is it you think you will find?"
He has no trouble rolling up on the balls of his feet and leaning in, lending just a hint of a conspiratorial air to the conversation. Wey shakes his head with a lesser species of incredulity and states, "No. I think the Weyr is due more than it receives - and I would not be surprised to see that Crom is sending far less than it says it ought." There is an earnesty to him that's difficult to deny; for all of his charm, there are some things that simply cannot be replicated easily. His smile goes tilted again and he, finally, lifts a hand to rest it just at the lip of the desk, fingers curled to keep them out of trouble. "I just need to make sure I fully understand things here before I speak to the Weyrleaders. That's all. It's- ah. It's a family matter, you could say. And I want nothing more than to see to it that the Weyr gets all it's due, despite the efforts of my- ah. Despite the efforts of Lord Aughan." Naturally, he's quick to add, "And it's hardly a waste of my charms, regardless."
The laugh that rolls so easily at the implication, "Lord Aughan is not a careless man, nor is he the type of fool to let such sensitive information be seen carelessly." The words spoken with the air of someone who has seen firsthand evidence of it, "So what kind of family matter would it be that would involve a man born of neither Weyr nor Crom Hold." The tone of conspirator remaining as Edyis speaks.
"Are you so sure?" Wey's brows lift just a little. "He's not the only one with a grip on that information. He isn't the one that counts each item, records it, and loads it, after all. A hundred hands are on those tithes - or more." But there's a one-shouldered shrug and a light rap of knuckles laid on the desk before he withdraws a step. "And my mother knows people there," of this, he is utterly convinced. "She's seen them, too," which is tossed out and deftly thrown away as the conspiratorial tones persist. To that, finally, he can't quite contain the attempt at secrecy. His manner is utterly serious, his expression settling out into one of grim certainty. "That of a man sired at Crom Hold - and who should be next in line to rule it and right the wrongs of his father. That's the kind of family matter all of this is."
As he steps away, Edyis shifts to move in the direction of the shelves, indicating he could follow, her expression softening as she does. "No, he isn't but," a beat before she continues. "If you intend to present it to leadership, you need more proof than the words of a woman scorned. If Crom is withholding tithes they need to know. But if you wish for them to follow through, you will need irrefutable proof."
"No. I want to read so -I- know. I'm not here to discuss whether the tithes are being withheld," Weylaughn explains, "but to understand the situation here thoroughly. What I need from the Weyrleaders is... support." The word is rolled around and ultimately used, but the slight pull of his mouth to one side suggests it's not quite right for his tastes. He'll follow, of course, with a measured stride that falls just shy of casual. "Admittedly, if they are withholding tithes, that's another matter, but- ah. Consider it a point of curiosity from one who is deeply curious and with a vested interest in making sure this Weyr is not mistreated as it has been in the past."
Edyis curves a brow, "Support, as in overthrowing Lord Aughan, or staking a claim on succession?" She frowns deeply, softness fading into something sterner. "Nabol was issue enough, and it's a hold matter. Lord Aughan isn't to be trifled with, nor Lady Ienavi. If you are looking for someone to solidify some claim to a higher rank and position you are in the wrong place." Edyis gives a breath of disappointment, as she studies the shelf looking for a particular volume, fingertips brushing the spines as she searches.
To that, however, he gives no immediate answer. Wey just shakes his head and continues to follow her like a very peculiar shadow. A very quiet one, for that - at least when he's not talking. "It is. I'm aware of how things work. But to think that they can't offer some suggestions or aid in other ways would be..." he trails, motioning vaguely with a hand. "As I said, it's something I'll be discussing with them more fully." The implications are clear enough in those words, even if they are offered in mild tones. "I'm just here to get out of the rain and get some interesting reading material, in the end." Ah, but the seriousness dissolves in short order, with a smile tweaking at the corners of his mouth. "And, possibly a drinking companion later this evening." Yes, that -is- a sidelong look shot her way.
"It isn't likely to be helpful. Holder Conclave decides issues of succession. You'd have more luck cozying up with one of Aughan's enemies or someone with the pull inside the conclave doors." A small sound escapes as she locates the volume she is looking for. "As for reading, you might have more interest and get better use out of this volume than the tithing records." If taken or perused, it would list the genealogies of most of the major houses in the High Reaches sweeps area complete with additions and notations on the exiles. "That depends on the drinks and the company."
"Perhaps," he's willing to concede. "But- ah." Wey dismisses it with a wave of his hand, a gesture that's perilously imperious in a strange way. The book is offered, flipped through, and the result is perhaps not as anticipated. Instead, there's an arching of his eyebrows and a slight shift of his smile; it's subtle, really, but any charm he was exuding before has begun to cool. It's not entirely gone - but for all of his training and education, the matter of building patience was clearly neglected. "I do not -need- this. Crom's library is not lacking in this information - nor is the Harpers's. I suppose I could go find what I'm looking for or ask after someone who -will- help me." And of the drinks and company? Well. He's not giving the book back, now that it's been given. "At any rate. Later tonight at the Snowasis if you're inclined. Benden wine, of course - and myself," which, of course, is a given as far as he's concerned. "I'll return this, then."
His may cool, but hers remains, as she leans over in a low tone to murmur. "Well it is the best I can do for someone who won't tell me what It is they are really looking for. If you want better options, you have to play the game." The invitation is met with a smile, as she steps away to head to her station. "This whole section is dedicated to Crom. If you're looking for discrepancies though, I thought you might like to look there first."
"I'm fairly certain 'tithing records' was clearly stated a time or three." Maybe just two. Counting: not Weylaughn's forte at the moment. If he's a bit exasperated, so be it. "If I wanted anything else, I'd have asked." Or, more likely, find it himself. The cooling of charm is brief, at least; as the section is indicated, his smile returns as before - just as earnest as can be and he offers her another of those half-bows with the book tucked under an arm. "Many thanks to you," whose name he didn't get, of course, and certainly doesn't seem cunning enough to pursue. "I'll have to come back another time to properly peruse - when it's not raining so heavily." He'll give a cursory look, of course, but the one book? That's all he seems intent on carrying with him for now. Rather telling, that.
"Keep it dry please." She comments lightly, returning to her work. Not bothering to give her name either. There's a strange smirk that remains as she returns to the work, and she will be sure to reclaim that book later on, as well as the promise of Benden wine.