LOG: Gloves'd Be Nice
Date: Day 1, Month 11, Turn 21
Location: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: K'del makes himself feel good by visiting the convicts.
Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.
Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.
The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day.
The rain - and even the clouds - overwhelming present over the past few sevens have cleared, leaving one of those rare, lovely, autumn afternoons. It's still chilly enough that K'del tightens his jacket around himself and shoves his hands into his pockets as he crosses the bowl from the Weyrleader Complex, but from the way he takes a satisfied glance upwards at the sky, the sun is a welcome change. His passage takes him vaguely east, towards the far end of the bowl where the building work is in process, though there's plenty of ground to cover in between that end of the bowl and where he starts from.
No rain is good, especially when there's been enough of it of late and especially when one is stuck outside working. The later would be more of Brenoran's concern as the young man continues the task at hand. Hard labor is never any fun, but at least it keeps the body warm as the coat that's pulled across his shoulders has seen it's better days.
There's been a bit of uproar, these past couple of days, in the wake of the arrival of the convicts. That's probably one of the reasons K'del comes to a halt a distance away from the group, his expression appraising. He shrugs his own coat closer, probably in sympathy, right as one of the overseers rushes towards him. Their conversation is short, but apparently satisfactory, because though the young Weyrleader is no longer smiling, he does step forward again, leaving the overseer behind, apparently intent upon approaching the workers themselves. "Afternoon," he says, as he gets closer, gaze sliding from Brenoran to another worker, and another, all in turn.
Brenoran looks up from his work at that greeting along with a few of the others nearby. As good a time for a short break as any. After all, what better excuse than they Weyrleader talking to you. "Afternoon," Brenoran's reply is little more than an echo of some of the other's, tucking hands into pockets for the time being. Work might warm the body, but it does little for the fingers.
Now that he /has/ their attention, K'del falters as to what to do with it, looking distinctly awkward for a few moments before he manages to get out, "Er-- just wanted to check in with you all." Beat. "Promise that we're going to try and work out something better for your living arrangements." Beat. "Find out if there's anything you need. Guess the Reaches are a little different from Crom and all." It's certainly not doing anything for his air of authority, which at the moment, is minimal, despite the knot on his shoulder. "Know you're all going to be on your best behaviour while you're here, of course."
From the the group there's some muttering, 'yeah right', a few nods in that 'whatever' sort of fashion. For some reason, there's some who could care less about the Weyrleader's assurances. For the most, once the man with the knot has said his piece they turn back to work under the assumtion that he's going to continue on his way. Sooner the day's work is done, sooner they don't have to work. It's Brenoran who ventures to speak up, clearing his throat a bit before he speaks, "Sir?" he questions, hesitating a few seconds to see if he's going to be acknowledged or shut down as he goes on to inquire. "Sir, the mines are cold an' all but ain't got the wind. Some of us, well some gloves'd be nice. Ain't nothing fancy or nothing..."
K'del's awkwardness increases ten-fold as a result of those responses, and if his cheeks aren't actually pink, well, that's nice willpower on his part, given the way he's standing. But Brenoran's inquiry gives him someone in particular to concentrate on, and he takes another step forward, closer to the other young man. "Gloves," he repeats, frowning, and then, more certainly: "Gloves! Right. Yes, of course. The mines would be sheltered, and we--" He breaks off, but he's nodding enthusiastically. "Get you gloves," is his promise, firmer than the rest of his words have been. "Told your overseer, telling you all now: won't have people go without in my weyr, whatever they've done. So we're going to look after you."
"T-thank ya." Beat. "Sir." Brenoran replies, lips quirking with the touch of a smile at the Weyrleader's enthusiasm and assurance in all that. If K'del is awkward about the whole thing, he's not the only one and Brenoran's certainly shows. Usually one to keep his head down and his mouth shut, or at least he was for the majority of his incarseration this was a step. Perhaps it's that the end is finally in sight that he's managed to speak up, or maybe his fingers are just that cold.
K'del opens his mouth, as though he's about to correct the man-- probable to tell him to use his name or something. He evidently thinks better of it, perhaps friendliness only going so far with someone who's committed a crime, whatever it was, and simply smiles instead. "You're welcome," is his earnest adjoined to that. "Don't figure that committing a crime means you ought to be mistreated." Beat. "Or whatever." He hesitates, then adds, apparently intending to be conversational, "Your term's nearly up, right? Think that's what's the go for all of you?"
"Thank ya," Brenoran repeats, gaze distracted by the work he was doing a bit earlier. "Yeah. Not much longer," he adds, lifting his eyes back towards K'del. "Mosta us far's I know," he continues, doing his best to answer any questions he might be able to. Longer conversation, longer time for hands in pockets.
Longer conversation, the better K'del feels, too, probably, the more righteous. He had a conversation with a convict, you know! "That's good," he declares, firmly, even enthusiastically. "Get this job done, and then you're free. Back into society. Have you made-- plans? Got any ideas about what you'll do after?" The overseer, by this point, is beginning to glower at the Weyrleader, but since K'del's back is turned to him, it's both impossible for him to know or care.
"Yeah," Brenoran returns, a hint of a smile finding his lips for the thought of beind DONE. Its that next question that sees him faultering again however. "No sir," he admits with a shake of his head, eyes cast down again in avoidance of the overseer's gaze. "Ain't th-.. well ain't really got no place. Ya know."
That hint of a smile only magnifies K'del's: he looks genuinely pleased, if only for a few moments. It fades rather distinctly to concern as Brenoran continues; he bites at his lip, nodding slowly, carefully. "Ah," he says. "Sorry to hear that." Beat. "Sure there's plenty of places out there that'll need a good worker, though, right? Get yourself back on your feet." But possibly not the weyr; perhaps his generosity doesn't extend quite that far.
Brenoran wouldn't expect it too, but that doesn't mean that K'del knows that of course. "Sure Ah'll find somethin'," he replies even if he isn't quite so sure of it himself. "Yer right, always someplace as needs a hand." Beat. "Sir, I," he starts with a nod of his head towards his work, "Should prolly get back to it lessn ya had anythin' else.." He's libel to get in trouble enough as it is with that overseer glowering at the both of them.
"I'm sure you will," says K'del, confidently, though his confidence tapers back off into awkwardness as he follows that nod with his head, and makes a face. "Sorry, didn't meant to keep you from your work. Of course. Thank you for-- speaking with me." Beat. And: "I'm K'del. Suppose you knew that. Going to get you those gloves, though, get them sent down later today if I can manage it. Anything else you need, you let me know, okay?"
Brenoran nods, another quirk of a smile visible for a second or two thanks to K'del's confidence. "Yes sir, Weyrleader," apparently the title is good enough for him, not need to muddy waters with names. Then again he doesn't exactly expect to see the other around all that often after this, if at all.
:hesitates a moment more, as though he's waiting for Brenoran to offer his own name in response; when it doesn't happen, he finally nods once more, manages another smile, and then takes his leave. Turning away, he offers a nod to the overseer, then carries onwards through the bowl, back towards the (nice, warm) caverns and his comfortable, upper class life. But the gloves, at least, /will/ arrive as promised.
Location: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: K'del makes himself feel good by visiting the convicts.
Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.
Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.
The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day.
The rain - and even the clouds - overwhelming present over the past few sevens have cleared, leaving one of those rare, lovely, autumn afternoons. It's still chilly enough that K'del tightens his jacket around himself and shoves his hands into his pockets as he crosses the bowl from the Weyrleader Complex, but from the way he takes a satisfied glance upwards at the sky, the sun is a welcome change. His passage takes him vaguely east, towards the far end of the bowl where the building work is in process, though there's plenty of ground to cover in between that end of the bowl and where he starts from.
No rain is good, especially when there's been enough of it of late and especially when one is stuck outside working. The later would be more of Brenoran's concern as the young man continues the task at hand. Hard labor is never any fun, but at least it keeps the body warm as the coat that's pulled across his shoulders has seen it's better days.
There's been a bit of uproar, these past couple of days, in the wake of the arrival of the convicts. That's probably one of the reasons K'del comes to a halt a distance away from the group, his expression appraising. He shrugs his own coat closer, probably in sympathy, right as one of the overseers rushes towards him. Their conversation is short, but apparently satisfactory, because though the young Weyrleader is no longer smiling, he does step forward again, leaving the overseer behind, apparently intent upon approaching the workers themselves. "Afternoon," he says, as he gets closer, gaze sliding from Brenoran to another worker, and another, all in turn.
Brenoran looks up from his work at that greeting along with a few of the others nearby. As good a time for a short break as any. After all, what better excuse than they Weyrleader talking to you. "Afternoon," Brenoran's reply is little more than an echo of some of the other's, tucking hands into pockets for the time being. Work might warm the body, but it does little for the fingers.
Now that he /has/ their attention, K'del falters as to what to do with it, looking distinctly awkward for a few moments before he manages to get out, "Er-- just wanted to check in with you all." Beat. "Promise that we're going to try and work out something better for your living arrangements." Beat. "Find out if there's anything you need. Guess the Reaches are a little different from Crom and all." It's certainly not doing anything for his air of authority, which at the moment, is minimal, despite the knot on his shoulder. "Know you're all going to be on your best behaviour while you're here, of course."
From the the group there's some muttering, 'yeah right', a few nods in that 'whatever' sort of fashion. For some reason, there's some who could care less about the Weyrleader's assurances. For the most, once the man with the knot has said his piece they turn back to work under the assumtion that he's going to continue on his way. Sooner the day's work is done, sooner they don't have to work. It's Brenoran who ventures to speak up, clearing his throat a bit before he speaks, "Sir?" he questions, hesitating a few seconds to see if he's going to be acknowledged or shut down as he goes on to inquire. "Sir, the mines are cold an' all but ain't got the wind. Some of us, well some gloves'd be nice. Ain't nothing fancy or nothing..."
K'del's awkwardness increases ten-fold as a result of those responses, and if his cheeks aren't actually pink, well, that's nice willpower on his part, given the way he's standing. But Brenoran's inquiry gives him someone in particular to concentrate on, and he takes another step forward, closer to the other young man. "Gloves," he repeats, frowning, and then, more certainly: "Gloves! Right. Yes, of course. The mines would be sheltered, and we--" He breaks off, but he's nodding enthusiastically. "Get you gloves," is his promise, firmer than the rest of his words have been. "Told your overseer, telling you all now: won't have people go without in my weyr, whatever they've done. So we're going to look after you."
"T-thank ya." Beat. "Sir." Brenoran replies, lips quirking with the touch of a smile at the Weyrleader's enthusiasm and assurance in all that. If K'del is awkward about the whole thing, he's not the only one and Brenoran's certainly shows. Usually one to keep his head down and his mouth shut, or at least he was for the majority of his incarseration this was a step. Perhaps it's that the end is finally in sight that he's managed to speak up, or maybe his fingers are just that cold.
K'del opens his mouth, as though he's about to correct the man-- probable to tell him to use his name or something. He evidently thinks better of it, perhaps friendliness only going so far with someone who's committed a crime, whatever it was, and simply smiles instead. "You're welcome," is his earnest adjoined to that. "Don't figure that committing a crime means you ought to be mistreated." Beat. "Or whatever." He hesitates, then adds, apparently intending to be conversational, "Your term's nearly up, right? Think that's what's the go for all of you?"
"Thank ya," Brenoran repeats, gaze distracted by the work he was doing a bit earlier. "Yeah. Not much longer," he adds, lifting his eyes back towards K'del. "Mosta us far's I know," he continues, doing his best to answer any questions he might be able to. Longer conversation, longer time for hands in pockets.
Longer conversation, the better K'del feels, too, probably, the more righteous. He had a conversation with a convict, you know! "That's good," he declares, firmly, even enthusiastically. "Get this job done, and then you're free. Back into society. Have you made-- plans? Got any ideas about what you'll do after?" The overseer, by this point, is beginning to glower at the Weyrleader, but since K'del's back is turned to him, it's both impossible for him to know or care.
"Yeah," Brenoran returns, a hint of a smile finding his lips for the thought of beind DONE. Its that next question that sees him faultering again however. "No sir," he admits with a shake of his head, eyes cast down again in avoidance of the overseer's gaze. "Ain't th-.. well ain't really got no place. Ya know."
That hint of a smile only magnifies K'del's: he looks genuinely pleased, if only for a few moments. It fades rather distinctly to concern as Brenoran continues; he bites at his lip, nodding slowly, carefully. "Ah," he says. "Sorry to hear that." Beat. "Sure there's plenty of places out there that'll need a good worker, though, right? Get yourself back on your feet." But possibly not the weyr; perhaps his generosity doesn't extend quite that far.
Brenoran wouldn't expect it too, but that doesn't mean that K'del knows that of course. "Sure Ah'll find somethin'," he replies even if he isn't quite so sure of it himself. "Yer right, always someplace as needs a hand." Beat. "Sir, I," he starts with a nod of his head towards his work, "Should prolly get back to it lessn ya had anythin' else.." He's libel to get in trouble enough as it is with that overseer glowering at the both of them.
"I'm sure you will," says K'del, confidently, though his confidence tapers back off into awkwardness as he follows that nod with his head, and makes a face. "Sorry, didn't meant to keep you from your work. Of course. Thank you for-- speaking with me." Beat. And: "I'm K'del. Suppose you knew that. Going to get you those gloves, though, get them sent down later today if I can manage it. Anything else you need, you let me know, okay?"
Brenoran nods, another quirk of a smile visible for a second or two thanks to K'del's confidence. "Yes sir, Weyrleader," apparently the title is good enough for him, not need to muddy waters with names. Then again he doesn't exactly expect to see the other around all that often after this, if at all.
:hesitates a moment more, as though he's waiting for Brenoran to offer his own name in response; when it doesn't happen, he finally nods once more, manages another smile, and then takes his leave. Turning away, he offers a nod to the overseer, then carries onwards through the bowl, back towards the (nice, warm) caverns and his comfortable, upper class life. But the gloves, at least, /will/ arrive as promised.