LOG: Not Normal
Date: Day 23, Month 11, Turn 20
Location: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Nearly-graduated Weyrlings mean wing assignments, and K'del wants Leova's advice on these.
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.
This morning, rumour would have it that K'del was at Crom, and dressed to impress, but this afternoon, at the casually appointed time, he's here in the Council Chambers. Casually dressed, and stretched out as though he owns the place, he's got a half-drunk mug of something beside him, and a stack of papers to thumb through in the meantime, which he does in a distinctly cheerful way. It's a beautiful day out there; perhaps it's infectious.
Which is when Leova shows up, or reports in, depending upon one's point of view. Vrianth follows her nearly all the way inside, dark-jeweled eyes on that long, long neck, nostrils inhaling the air dubiously before she retreats to huddle upon the ledge with twitchy wings. The green's rider can't help but look back to see her go, but then squares her shoulders. Walks onward. Manages to not even cross her arms, even. She does give the place a look, sees how it's the same, how it might be different now.
Not so very different, not in the essentials. Perhaps K'del stores papers different, perhaps Tiriana does, but it's only in the light touches that anything has changed in probably turns. The bronzerider seems - outwardly, at least - utterly unaware of any significance to his choice of meeting place; in truth, he seems oblivious to anything, making his greetings with a warm smile. "Leova. Take a seat? Not as comfortable as the ones in my weyr, but I needed the space, earlier, and it was easier than moving around."
Maybe it would have been easier if they had remodeled, had swapped out the grand table, had changed the tapestries to images of Tiriana on every wall. The greenrider's eyes are darker in this room without sunlight, and she complies in a way that would be silent if it weren't for the scrape of the chair, the creak of leather as she lowers herself to the edge of a chair that's not far from K'del. Not far, but not near, not across and not next to, and not one of the chairs she'd sat in before. She looks back at him then. Waiting. Vrianth waits too. Her wingtips shiver.
There's the sound of shuffling papers, too, while she seats herself, and the sound of a mug being slid out of the way as a new pile is made, but the greenrider's silence ultimately draws more of K'del's attention, and this time, he frowns, visibly disquieted, even if he makes no verbal remark on it. There's a few more moments of silence to follow, though K'del doesn't seem to be waiting - not with the way he licks his lips, shifts another paper, opens his mouth and then, finally, then, manages, "Thanks for coming. Just… wanted your opinions on weyrlings. Turn old, now, ready for wings, but…" He licks his lips again. "Which ones. Is the question."
Is it any surprise that the already ordinarily laconic woman doesn't move to fill the silence? She's not unresponsive, doesn't neglect to tip her head in response to those thanks, a matter-of-fact he's-the-boss that nevertheless doesn't leap up and shout a happy-to. Just, "Where would you like to start?"
Nonetheless, K'del's lazy comfort in this place has dwindled, and it's not just professionalism that has him sitting up straighter in his chair, and drawing the foot he was sitting on out from beneath him to put beneath the table, much more dignified. He has another audible intake of breath before he responds, "Well. Er-- is there anything that leaps out at you as being something that needs to be taken into consideration? Issues, recommendations, preferences? I admit," and this is perhaps intended to provide some levity, "don't know them all that well, on the whole."
While he's doing that, her glance slips sideways, towards the rest of the room like she might see a ghost walking there. She's the one to shiver, then, and when she turns back, it's with deliberate steadiness that might make things at least a little easier. "The weyrling wingleader, this time, was K'ndro. He picked G'chet and Ebeny as his 'seconds. Beyond that... depends on what you want. When people don't get along, more'n just a dirty look here and there, would you rather separate them or make them deal? For instance."
In between his shifting, K'del does let his gaze follow Leova's, but only for a moment; he can't see anything, after all, and if she's steadier afterwards… well, there's no need to comment, is there? "Separate them." It's prompt, and determined. "That's a start, then. Who should we be separating? What about romantic entanglements? They should be separated too--" Beat. Frown. "probably? Would think so, anyway."
All that leads to a wry pull of her mouth, well before he's done speaking. And when he is, "Go that far, reckon we'd run out of wings to put them all in." Another beat. "Let's see." The greenrider leans her elbows on the table, leans her fists together, doesn't /quite/ lean her chin on the latter. "The big one's... you remember W'chek, Whitchek as he was then, and his going off about deviants? Turns out, he and B'tal have some sort of... thing. And then there was B'tal and Z'yi, /that/ didn't go well. But then there's Ajatha, who'd like to keep Z'yi and K'ndro under lock and key by the look of her. Except /those/ two aren't getting along either, haven't been. Heard P'ax was mixed up in some of it, don't know how much of it's rumor. And Mai and Kalisti who break up every other sevenday like clockwork, and P'lask, who's all but weyrmated to Tavini in Boreal." And so on. "Can't get into wings too soon for me."
K'del's eyebrows raise, fraction of an inch after fraction of an inch, until surely, surely, they can't actually go any further than that. Finally; "/Shells/. Honestly don't remember my class being anything like that bad... please tell me it's not normal, right?" The paper in front of him is covered, already, in scribbled notes, and after giving it one long look, he ultimately shakes his head. "Another seven or two, then they're out of your hair, promise. Hm. W'chek, though..." he's scanning back across his notes. "Given the way he is, wouldn't put him in one of the more traditional wings. Which is funny, since that's what you'd've thought would work, up until... This."
"It's not normal." And Leova deadpans it, with a gleam in her eye, however short-lived. "Got to remember, only been around for a couple of classes myself, mind." One of them his. "Still, a body hears... anyhow, not a traditional wing, not at all. Not Glacier, say." She shifts, pushing her chair back some, legs sprawling briefly beneath the table before she tucks them back again. "Between you'n me, and Meara, would want him to have a wingleader who'd keep an eye on him. Not the sort to butt heads, but not the sort who don't care or who'd let him walk all over, either. Heard once... of course, it was back when, but." Her voice can't help but lower. "Something about maybe leaving."
It's enough to encourage a wry smile from K'del, whose head shakes as he settles back in his chair, visibly thoughtful. "Leaving? What, to another weyr-- no, altogether? /Huh/." Now, his lips pull together, almost as though he's been sucking on a lemon. "Could always offer him the opportunity to be permanent watchrider somewhere, suppose. If it came up. But. Not Glacier, not Hailstorm, at least. What about K'ndro? Weyrling Wingleader, so he's capable, presumably."
This time, the tip of Leova's head is downward, downcast, after jerked agreement for not-those-wings. "Not sure about offering him anything that he might take with both hands and run. /But/. Maybe it'll get better, what with him starting to get more right with himself. Something to where Zhikath could loosen up some, that'd be good too. K'ndro..." There's a slight pull to her mouth again, but not the way it had been before. "Capable enough, but don't reckon he's bucking for wingsecond as soon as he can get a whiff of it, not like some. Not like Xadovith, maybe, even. Sounded by what he said, he'll be glad of a chance to just be one of the boys... might work in dragonhealing, maybe. On the side. If Meara wants him helping us out whenever there's a next time, too, that wouldn't be half bad... that girl, Ezalea, her queen due? Folks've been wondering."
K'del pauses in his scribbled notes long enough that he's looking up as Leova's mouth pulls so at the mention of K'ndro. His head ducks back down again, a moment later, however, and he holds his silence until after the greenrider has finished. "Not immediately due, no, but that's perhaps for the better. Hard to know, who'd own the clutch if she's here only temporarily, maybe. Guess we'll see." Scanning back over his notes, he adds, "Right, no offering W'chek anything like that immediately; hopefully he will improve. An K'ndro... one of the boys. Might be a fit for Glacier, then, or Hailstorm. Opposite of W'chek. Ajatha... you said she's possessive over K'ndro and Z'yi. Separate them, I'd guess, then."
Who'd own the clutch: it gets a dry chuckle, but Leova doesn't interrupt. Instead, "Might give W'chek some other sort of... mission, instead. If it doesn't involve what they call people skills, anyhow." She taps her knuckles against each other. "And. Please." Again. "Reckon she's got some ambition. Z'yi too, maybe, though the boy just hasn't got his pieces together right, right now. Hoping that'd change. He's another of the ones with the silver thread, and you remember he got involved in that trader thing, finding out where the booze wound up... He might be all right with weyrlings later, might also be too much of a wild card. But. The sort that might make Hailstorm, someday, you know?"
"/Mission/." That escapes, just a little more than a breath, while Leova is still speaking, leaving K'del to listen all the more intently for the rest just to keep up. It's after, as he nods along quickly in agreement to the maybe, someday, making Hailstorm, that he says more musingly, "Got a few things on the boil that might work to keep certain people occupied. Prospects. Anyway. So Z'yi an Ajatha both need a doing wing, not the kind where they'll just be doing the minimum and coasting the rest. Snowdrift asked for some mid-sized dragons, so that could suit for one of them. The other… work that out eventually. What about B'tal? Seem to remember he was a Smith at one point, am I right? Reckon he'll want to go back to that, focus more on crafting than riding?"
"Mission where he's got to report back," Leova does specify before listening, nodding in her turn, only it's for Snowdrift instead of Hailstorm. "B'tal... " Her eyes have narrowed in thought. "Don't know as how he's so eager to go back to smithing. Maybe once he's just done riding, /real/ riding for a while. But it sounded like it was his... that he was made to go into the Craft to begin with, not some great skill or... /calling/ or whatever they're calling it these days. He could use some stability, expectations laid out. Don't see him working with weyrlings particularly, not until he gets more spine. But if there won't be a clutch real soon anyway... going to send all the assistants back into the wings?" Amber eyes have gotten to where they're studying K'del, responsible for all this in the end.
"Something with structure," agrees K'del, of this mission-for-W'chek. His mouth draws in again as she talks about B'tal, his nod a hesitant one, somehow uncertain. "His father," is his lemon-faced conclusion. "Then he'll want a more traditional wing, perhaps, not one of the ones trying all kinds of new things. Ideally not the same one as either W'chek or Z'yi is in, but we'll take what we can get, in the working out." His head lifts as he answers that last question, gaze seeking out her reaction as he speaks, his tone casual. "Yes. All of you. B'sil and I discussed it, can't see much point keeping you there with no weyrlings to watch. Going to wait a little while, first, before dumping you in with the former weyrlings." Beat. "What about you, do you want to go back to... Glacier, was it?"
His father. Her nod is more certain though no more happy about it. For the rest... first: "One of the more important not-the-sames, I think." But Leova's got a lift of her shoulder for that, one that's slower to fall. Back to, "Glacier." Briefly: "Go where I'm needed, sir."
"Noted," begins K'del, just before he falters, the use of the 'sir' evidently catching him out, drawing his expression unhappily into an awkward frown that can't help but be directed towards the greenrider. "But if it were your choice, and yours alone? Glacier, somewhere else?"
It's not the sort of frown that's allowed to reflect in the greenrider's really quite placid-looking expression, and when'd that happen, anyway? "Reckon I'd rather have Snowstrike back. The way it was. Any plans to time it, anytime soon?"
K'del must, of course, know about Snowstrike, but it seems to take him a moment to place it, and then there's that exhalation and the shake of the head that follows it. "Wish that were something I could offer you, Leova," he says, with the faintest stress on her /name/ rather than /title/. He pauses for the space of a breath after that, then hurries on; "What about Ebeny?"
She'd already begun to shake her own head, hair swinging on the side that hadn't stuck to the helmet, a darker auburn where the sun-rust had been cut from it. Now Leova stops, and doesn't fill in the space between. Only: "Nice girl, means well. More to her than a body might have thought, early on... And it's how she deals with Laurienth that makes me think she might be able to help a weyrling understand, sometime. Could go different places, but better if she's with someone who'll pay attention." There's a moment there, where she's still leaning forward, before she sits back instead.
"Another potential weyrlingmaster," muses K'del, marking that (presumably) down on his paper. "Seem to remember hearing that Laurienth was a difficult one. But. All right, a wing she won't get lost in, then, one that can encourage her." His gaze flickers from the page to the greenrider, well aware of her movements though he makes no comment on them. "V'nian's not even fifteen yet, is he? Reckon he's mature enough to go into a wing, even if we don't, say, send him out on his own for things?"
K'del has had to turn his page over, and begin making his notes on the back, but he takes down these latest suggestions without hesitation, head bobbing after each while his eyes remain lowered. His head lifts as she talks about V'nian, and there's laughter in his voice, outright, as he says, "Duly noted. One mentor for V'nian. Taiga's got quite a few younger riders... might see if there's someone there who'd be interested. Alpine actually requested P'lask, so that one's easy, should do well there." He's going back over his list, checking who's been missed. Idly; "Going to end up shuffling a few people about, I think. Better balance."
"/Did/ they." Another of her particular charges: Leova does, yes, look pleased. "Hope they take that all right, the shuffling. Sometimes, even when they complain..." There's another lift-and-fall of one shoulder before she thinks to mention the last in her assigned mini-group, Iabri, followed by Mirax and Urda and so forth. But then it's back to a not-her-business-and-yet, "What kind of balance you looking for? These days."
From the bronzerider, a knowing smile for that pleasure, though it doesn't linger; "Imagine they'll get used to it. Not everyone is as attached to their wing as--" He breaks that one off, apologetic, immediately, and faintly pink to the cheeks. The page gets set down, and the pen beside it, as she asks that last question, his head tilting back so that he can consider the ceiling. "Interests, in some cases. What /kind/ of work people want to be doing. Also, where their strengths are. Not all wings need to be built so as to work well in 'fall, now, and," he takes time for a deep breath, "We're likely to end up doing more and more things that some people don't consider to be 'real' work for dragonriders. Got to take that into account, too."
Her mouth had compressed at that, briefly white before getting all placid again, and if it hadn't been for the discussion of the remaining weyrlings thereafter, likely she wouldn't have asked that follow-up question. As it is, she's still terse about the next, made more a question by repetition than intonation: "Not... 'real' work."
K'del's gaze definitely remains more interested in the ceiling than in Leova, the pinkness to his cheeks lingering despite the time between that misstep and the follow-up question. He has to swallow, too, before answering, exhaling lengthily before; "/Different/ work. Some manual labour, probably. Intermediaries to the crafts, possibly. Got to--" Beat. Then, more determined: "Keep busy. Relevant. Useful."
Manual labor: it gets a curl of her lip that immediately precedes a headshake, a silent laugh at herself. "If nothing else," Leova supposes instead, call it a dry sort of peace offering, "So we don't figure we're only good for keeping our dragons from dying and just lie in our weyrs and drink." For example. Not that her own eyes roam the cavern, not the tapestries, not the ceiling. "Like what? For example."
With a rolling of K'del's shoulders, he finally lets himself draw his gaze back from the ceiling, though admittedly it still lingers more towards the table than the greenrider. "Exactly," is his answer, quietly. "And so the people feeding and clothing us don't forget why they do so." He sucks in a breath before answering her question, visibly cautious. "What kind of work? /Could/ end up with some fields of our own, to tend. For example."
Skipping over the feeding-and-clothing as read: "Heard... noises about that," Leova says, and the greenrider's voice is low, as though someone could be listening /right/ /now/.
"And that it's from--" Big breath. "Crom?" K'del's leaned forward to say this, his own voice matching hers. It must be pure coincidence that that's when footsteps sound down the corridor. Hurriedly, before anyone comes in: "What do you think?"
He leans forward, she leans forward, even if it's just a little. Even if it's just enough for uncertainty to be written all over her momentarily wide-eyed face. Even if /that/ has so much to do with how making snap decisions, well, it hasn't exactly been her forte for Turns now. And so when B'sil comes in, the greenrider's straightening all of a sudden, brown cheeks reddened. Not to look guilty, or anything.
They way K'del straightens, too? Stiffens, even. It could almost look like they'd been caught engaged in something illicit. Nor does B'sil especially help that, the way he pauses at the doorway, fastening a look at the pair of them, gaze narrowed. And; "K'del. We need that--" His pause is meaningful, a glance at Leova. "We need it done before tomorrow. Have you finished, yet?" K'del actually colours. "Nearly done, B'sil. It'll be ready." And to Leova, stiffly; "Really appreciate your assistance. Been a big help."
Which wouldn't help /Leova/, except that the greenrider's already steadying into a just-a-spear-carrier-don't-mind-me look for B'sil, and some of that muted deference carries through in her, "Welcome, Weyrleader. Glad to help." She tacks on a, "Sir," for the older bronzerider on her way out, even as her chair's still sliding back into place behind her, the work of bare moments to abandon K'del to the man. And if it takes a little longer to convince Vrianth to stop investigating-or-maybe-interrogating poor-left-behind Aristath, well, that beautiful afternoon calls out for /flying/.
From his own ledge, Cadejoth, no doubt, watches with envy at those who do get to spend this afternoon flying - though it's not as though he didn't get to go to Crom, this morning. "What was /she/ helping you with?" B'sil, eyeing K'del. The younger bronzerider tears his gaze away from the passage down which Leova just disappeared, drawing together his expression. "Weyrlings. Just talking weyrlings. Now, the paperwork. What do you think about--" And on it goes. And goes. And goes.
Location: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Nearly-graduated Weyrlings mean wing assignments, and K'del wants Leova's advice on these.
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.
This morning, rumour would have it that K'del was at Crom, and dressed to impress, but this afternoon, at the casually appointed time, he's here in the Council Chambers. Casually dressed, and stretched out as though he owns the place, he's got a half-drunk mug of something beside him, and a stack of papers to thumb through in the meantime, which he does in a distinctly cheerful way. It's a beautiful day out there; perhaps it's infectious.
Which is when Leova shows up, or reports in, depending upon one's point of view. Vrianth follows her nearly all the way inside, dark-jeweled eyes on that long, long neck, nostrils inhaling the air dubiously before she retreats to huddle upon the ledge with twitchy wings. The green's rider can't help but look back to see her go, but then squares her shoulders. Walks onward. Manages to not even cross her arms, even. She does give the place a look, sees how it's the same, how it might be different now.
Not so very different, not in the essentials. Perhaps K'del stores papers different, perhaps Tiriana does, but it's only in the light touches that anything has changed in probably turns. The bronzerider seems - outwardly, at least - utterly unaware of any significance to his choice of meeting place; in truth, he seems oblivious to anything, making his greetings with a warm smile. "Leova. Take a seat? Not as comfortable as the ones in my weyr, but I needed the space, earlier, and it was easier than moving around."
Maybe it would have been easier if they had remodeled, had swapped out the grand table, had changed the tapestries to images of Tiriana on every wall. The greenrider's eyes are darker in this room without sunlight, and she complies in a way that would be silent if it weren't for the scrape of the chair, the creak of leather as she lowers herself to the edge of a chair that's not far from K'del. Not far, but not near, not across and not next to, and not one of the chairs she'd sat in before. She looks back at him then. Waiting. Vrianth waits too. Her wingtips shiver.
There's the sound of shuffling papers, too, while she seats herself, and the sound of a mug being slid out of the way as a new pile is made, but the greenrider's silence ultimately draws more of K'del's attention, and this time, he frowns, visibly disquieted, even if he makes no verbal remark on it. There's a few more moments of silence to follow, though K'del doesn't seem to be waiting - not with the way he licks his lips, shifts another paper, opens his mouth and then, finally, then, manages, "Thanks for coming. Just… wanted your opinions on weyrlings. Turn old, now, ready for wings, but…" He licks his lips again. "Which ones. Is the question."
Is it any surprise that the already ordinarily laconic woman doesn't move to fill the silence? She's not unresponsive, doesn't neglect to tip her head in response to those thanks, a matter-of-fact he's-the-boss that nevertheless doesn't leap up and shout a happy-to. Just, "Where would you like to start?"
Nonetheless, K'del's lazy comfort in this place has dwindled, and it's not just professionalism that has him sitting up straighter in his chair, and drawing the foot he was sitting on out from beneath him to put beneath the table, much more dignified. He has another audible intake of breath before he responds, "Well. Er-- is there anything that leaps out at you as being something that needs to be taken into consideration? Issues, recommendations, preferences? I admit," and this is perhaps intended to provide some levity, "don't know them all that well, on the whole."
While he's doing that, her glance slips sideways, towards the rest of the room like she might see a ghost walking there. She's the one to shiver, then, and when she turns back, it's with deliberate steadiness that might make things at least a little easier. "The weyrling wingleader, this time, was K'ndro. He picked G'chet and Ebeny as his 'seconds. Beyond that... depends on what you want. When people don't get along, more'n just a dirty look here and there, would you rather separate them or make them deal? For instance."
In between his shifting, K'del does let his gaze follow Leova's, but only for a moment; he can't see anything, after all, and if she's steadier afterwards… well, there's no need to comment, is there? "Separate them." It's prompt, and determined. "That's a start, then. Who should we be separating? What about romantic entanglements? They should be separated too--" Beat. Frown. "probably? Would think so, anyway."
All that leads to a wry pull of her mouth, well before he's done speaking. And when he is, "Go that far, reckon we'd run out of wings to put them all in." Another beat. "Let's see." The greenrider leans her elbows on the table, leans her fists together, doesn't /quite/ lean her chin on the latter. "The big one's... you remember W'chek, Whitchek as he was then, and his going off about deviants? Turns out, he and B'tal have some sort of... thing. And then there was B'tal and Z'yi, /that/ didn't go well. But then there's Ajatha, who'd like to keep Z'yi and K'ndro under lock and key by the look of her. Except /those/ two aren't getting along either, haven't been. Heard P'ax was mixed up in some of it, don't know how much of it's rumor. And Mai and Kalisti who break up every other sevenday like clockwork, and P'lask, who's all but weyrmated to Tavini in Boreal." And so on. "Can't get into wings too soon for me."
K'del's eyebrows raise, fraction of an inch after fraction of an inch, until surely, surely, they can't actually go any further than that. Finally; "/Shells/. Honestly don't remember my class being anything like that bad... please tell me it's not normal, right?" The paper in front of him is covered, already, in scribbled notes, and after giving it one long look, he ultimately shakes his head. "Another seven or two, then they're out of your hair, promise. Hm. W'chek, though..." he's scanning back across his notes. "Given the way he is, wouldn't put him in one of the more traditional wings. Which is funny, since that's what you'd've thought would work, up until... This."
"It's not normal." And Leova deadpans it, with a gleam in her eye, however short-lived. "Got to remember, only been around for a couple of classes myself, mind." One of them his. "Still, a body hears... anyhow, not a traditional wing, not at all. Not Glacier, say." She shifts, pushing her chair back some, legs sprawling briefly beneath the table before she tucks them back again. "Between you'n me, and Meara, would want him to have a wingleader who'd keep an eye on him. Not the sort to butt heads, but not the sort who don't care or who'd let him walk all over, either. Heard once... of course, it was back when, but." Her voice can't help but lower. "Something about maybe leaving."
It's enough to encourage a wry smile from K'del, whose head shakes as he settles back in his chair, visibly thoughtful. "Leaving? What, to another weyr-- no, altogether? /Huh/." Now, his lips pull together, almost as though he's been sucking on a lemon. "Could always offer him the opportunity to be permanent watchrider somewhere, suppose. If it came up. But. Not Glacier, not Hailstorm, at least. What about K'ndro? Weyrling Wingleader, so he's capable, presumably."
This time, the tip of Leova's head is downward, downcast, after jerked agreement for not-those-wings. "Not sure about offering him anything that he might take with both hands and run. /But/. Maybe it'll get better, what with him starting to get more right with himself. Something to where Zhikath could loosen up some, that'd be good too. K'ndro..." There's a slight pull to her mouth again, but not the way it had been before. "Capable enough, but don't reckon he's bucking for wingsecond as soon as he can get a whiff of it, not like some. Not like Xadovith, maybe, even. Sounded by what he said, he'll be glad of a chance to just be one of the boys... might work in dragonhealing, maybe. On the side. If Meara wants him helping us out whenever there's a next time, too, that wouldn't be half bad... that girl, Ezalea, her queen due? Folks've been wondering."
K'del pauses in his scribbled notes long enough that he's looking up as Leova's mouth pulls so at the mention of K'ndro. His head ducks back down again, a moment later, however, and he holds his silence until after the greenrider has finished. "Not immediately due, no, but that's perhaps for the better. Hard to know, who'd own the clutch if she's here only temporarily, maybe. Guess we'll see." Scanning back over his notes, he adds, "Right, no offering W'chek anything like that immediately; hopefully he will improve. An K'ndro... one of the boys. Might be a fit for Glacier, then, or Hailstorm. Opposite of W'chek. Ajatha... you said she's possessive over K'ndro and Z'yi. Separate them, I'd guess, then."
Who'd own the clutch: it gets a dry chuckle, but Leova doesn't interrupt. Instead, "Might give W'chek some other sort of... mission, instead. If it doesn't involve what they call people skills, anyhow." She taps her knuckles against each other. "And. Please." Again. "Reckon she's got some ambition. Z'yi too, maybe, though the boy just hasn't got his pieces together right, right now. Hoping that'd change. He's another of the ones with the silver thread, and you remember he got involved in that trader thing, finding out where the booze wound up... He might be all right with weyrlings later, might also be too much of a wild card. But. The sort that might make Hailstorm, someday, you know?"
"/Mission/." That escapes, just a little more than a breath, while Leova is still speaking, leaving K'del to listen all the more intently for the rest just to keep up. It's after, as he nods along quickly in agreement to the maybe, someday, making Hailstorm, that he says more musingly, "Got a few things on the boil that might work to keep certain people occupied. Prospects. Anyway. So Z'yi an Ajatha both need a doing wing, not the kind where they'll just be doing the minimum and coasting the rest. Snowdrift asked for some mid-sized dragons, so that could suit for one of them. The other… work that out eventually. What about B'tal? Seem to remember he was a Smith at one point, am I right? Reckon he'll want to go back to that, focus more on crafting than riding?"
"Mission where he's got to report back," Leova does specify before listening, nodding in her turn, only it's for Snowdrift instead of Hailstorm. "B'tal... " Her eyes have narrowed in thought. "Don't know as how he's so eager to go back to smithing. Maybe once he's just done riding, /real/ riding for a while. But it sounded like it was his... that he was made to go into the Craft to begin with, not some great skill or... /calling/ or whatever they're calling it these days. He could use some stability, expectations laid out. Don't see him working with weyrlings particularly, not until he gets more spine. But if there won't be a clutch real soon anyway... going to send all the assistants back into the wings?" Amber eyes have gotten to where they're studying K'del, responsible for all this in the end.
"Something with structure," agrees K'del, of this mission-for-W'chek. His mouth draws in again as she talks about B'tal, his nod a hesitant one, somehow uncertain. "His father," is his lemon-faced conclusion. "Then he'll want a more traditional wing, perhaps, not one of the ones trying all kinds of new things. Ideally not the same one as either W'chek or Z'yi is in, but we'll take what we can get, in the working out." His head lifts as he answers that last question, gaze seeking out her reaction as he speaks, his tone casual. "Yes. All of you. B'sil and I discussed it, can't see much point keeping you there with no weyrlings to watch. Going to wait a little while, first, before dumping you in with the former weyrlings." Beat. "What about you, do you want to go back to... Glacier, was it?"
His father. Her nod is more certain though no more happy about it. For the rest... first: "One of the more important not-the-sames, I think." But Leova's got a lift of her shoulder for that, one that's slower to fall. Back to, "Glacier." Briefly: "Go where I'm needed, sir."
"Noted," begins K'del, just before he falters, the use of the 'sir' evidently catching him out, drawing his expression unhappily into an awkward frown that can't help but be directed towards the greenrider. "But if it were your choice, and yours alone? Glacier, somewhere else?"
It's not the sort of frown that's allowed to reflect in the greenrider's really quite placid-looking expression, and when'd that happen, anyway? "Reckon I'd rather have Snowstrike back. The way it was. Any plans to time it, anytime soon?"
K'del must, of course, know about Snowstrike, but it seems to take him a moment to place it, and then there's that exhalation and the shake of the head that follows it. "Wish that were something I could offer you, Leova," he says, with the faintest stress on her /name/ rather than /title/. He pauses for the space of a breath after that, then hurries on; "What about Ebeny?"
She'd already begun to shake her own head, hair swinging on the side that hadn't stuck to the helmet, a darker auburn where the sun-rust had been cut from it. Now Leova stops, and doesn't fill in the space between. Only: "Nice girl, means well. More to her than a body might have thought, early on... And it's how she deals with Laurienth that makes me think she might be able to help a weyrling understand, sometime. Could go different places, but better if she's with someone who'll pay attention." There's a moment there, where she's still leaning forward, before she sits back instead.
"Another potential weyrlingmaster," muses K'del, marking that (presumably) down on his paper. "Seem to remember hearing that Laurienth was a difficult one. But. All right, a wing she won't get lost in, then, one that can encourage her." His gaze flickers from the page to the greenrider, well aware of her movements though he makes no comment on them. "V'nian's not even fifteen yet, is he? Reckon he's mature enough to go into a wing, even if we don't, say, send him out on his own for things?"
K'del has had to turn his page over, and begin making his notes on the back, but he takes down these latest suggestions without hesitation, head bobbing after each while his eyes remain lowered. His head lifts as she talks about V'nian, and there's laughter in his voice, outright, as he says, "Duly noted. One mentor for V'nian. Taiga's got quite a few younger riders... might see if there's someone there who'd be interested. Alpine actually requested P'lask, so that one's easy, should do well there." He's going back over his list, checking who's been missed. Idly; "Going to end up shuffling a few people about, I think. Better balance."
"/Did/ they." Another of her particular charges: Leova does, yes, look pleased. "Hope they take that all right, the shuffling. Sometimes, even when they complain..." There's another lift-and-fall of one shoulder before she thinks to mention the last in her assigned mini-group, Iabri, followed by Mirax and Urda and so forth. But then it's back to a not-her-business-and-yet, "What kind of balance you looking for? These days."
From the bronzerider, a knowing smile for that pleasure, though it doesn't linger; "Imagine they'll get used to it. Not everyone is as attached to their wing as--" He breaks that one off, apologetic, immediately, and faintly pink to the cheeks. The page gets set down, and the pen beside it, as she asks that last question, his head tilting back so that he can consider the ceiling. "Interests, in some cases. What /kind/ of work people want to be doing. Also, where their strengths are. Not all wings need to be built so as to work well in 'fall, now, and," he takes time for a deep breath, "We're likely to end up doing more and more things that some people don't consider to be 'real' work for dragonriders. Got to take that into account, too."
Her mouth had compressed at that, briefly white before getting all placid again, and if it hadn't been for the discussion of the remaining weyrlings thereafter, likely she wouldn't have asked that follow-up question. As it is, she's still terse about the next, made more a question by repetition than intonation: "Not... 'real' work."
K'del's gaze definitely remains more interested in the ceiling than in Leova, the pinkness to his cheeks lingering despite the time between that misstep and the follow-up question. He has to swallow, too, before answering, exhaling lengthily before; "/Different/ work. Some manual labour, probably. Intermediaries to the crafts, possibly. Got to--" Beat. Then, more determined: "Keep busy. Relevant. Useful."
Manual labor: it gets a curl of her lip that immediately precedes a headshake, a silent laugh at herself. "If nothing else," Leova supposes instead, call it a dry sort of peace offering, "So we don't figure we're only good for keeping our dragons from dying and just lie in our weyrs and drink." For example. Not that her own eyes roam the cavern, not the tapestries, not the ceiling. "Like what? For example."
With a rolling of K'del's shoulders, he finally lets himself draw his gaze back from the ceiling, though admittedly it still lingers more towards the table than the greenrider. "Exactly," is his answer, quietly. "And so the people feeding and clothing us don't forget why they do so." He sucks in a breath before answering her question, visibly cautious. "What kind of work? /Could/ end up with some fields of our own, to tend. For example."
Skipping over the feeding-and-clothing as read: "Heard... noises about that," Leova says, and the greenrider's voice is low, as though someone could be listening /right/ /now/.
"And that it's from--" Big breath. "Crom?" K'del's leaned forward to say this, his own voice matching hers. It must be pure coincidence that that's when footsteps sound down the corridor. Hurriedly, before anyone comes in: "What do you think?"
He leans forward, she leans forward, even if it's just a little. Even if it's just enough for uncertainty to be written all over her momentarily wide-eyed face. Even if /that/ has so much to do with how making snap decisions, well, it hasn't exactly been her forte for Turns now. And so when B'sil comes in, the greenrider's straightening all of a sudden, brown cheeks reddened. Not to look guilty, or anything.
They way K'del straightens, too? Stiffens, even. It could almost look like they'd been caught engaged in something illicit. Nor does B'sil especially help that, the way he pauses at the doorway, fastening a look at the pair of them, gaze narrowed. And; "K'del. We need that--" His pause is meaningful, a glance at Leova. "We need it done before tomorrow. Have you finished, yet?" K'del actually colours. "Nearly done, B'sil. It'll be ready." And to Leova, stiffly; "Really appreciate your assistance. Been a big help."
Which wouldn't help /Leova/, except that the greenrider's already steadying into a just-a-spear-carrier-don't-mind-me look for B'sil, and some of that muted deference carries through in her, "Welcome, Weyrleader. Glad to help." She tacks on a, "Sir," for the older bronzerider on her way out, even as her chair's still sliding back into place behind her, the work of bare moments to abandon K'del to the man. And if it takes a little longer to convince Vrianth to stop investigating-or-maybe-interrogating poor-left-behind Aristath, well, that beautiful afternoon calls out for /flying/.
From his own ledge, Cadejoth, no doubt, watches with envy at those who do get to spend this afternoon flying - though it's not as though he didn't get to go to Crom, this morning. "What was /she/ helping you with?" B'sil, eyeing K'del. The younger bronzerider tears his gaze away from the passage down which Leova just disappeared, drawing together his expression. "Weyrlings. Just talking weyrlings. Now, the paperwork. What do you think about--" And on it goes. And goes. And goes.