LOG: Taking Care Of Your Own
Date: Day 25, Month 1, Turn 22
Location: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: K'del and Saliqa discuss convicts and cave-ins. And... awkward things.
Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone.
Towards the south-eastern end of the bowl, a large area has been cordoned off with heavy ropes. The bowl wall has mostly been covered by enormous lengths of oiled cloth, hiding damage left in the wake of the meteor and eye rock, which fell here.
The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little sticks.
The Cromite candidate is clearly coming off of chores, her wet and worn apron still around her as she steps from the brighter light caverns to the outside where scattered snow melts off the ground. Though bundled against the cold, she has her hands pressed under the thick scarf at her neck for extra protection, leaving the bundle of hides she's carrying to be held under her arm. As she makes footprints towards the halted work-site she tries to keep out of the way of those still overseeing it. This becomes increasingly more difficult because, with each step, her gaze leaves the trouble on the ground and wanders higher and higher to wherever are perched those large forms of watching dragons. She averts her eyes quickly when she realizes it, though, never wanting to linger on one of them too long.
Even as bundled up against the cold as he is, K'del's an easy figure to pick out, rather taller than all of the men in the group he's talking to: miners and overseers all. From the looks of it, they're just emerging from within the worksite, and the Weyrleader's expression is pretty grim as he makes serious, if appreciative, farewells and turns to head back off across the bowl. Saliqa's wandering gaze probably allows him to get rather closer without being seen than he otherwise would; he actively alters his path to intercept her, looking curious. "Sticky-beaking, Saliqa?" he wants to know, though his tone is far from accusatory. He could be talking about the way she's looking at the dragons, or perhaps where he assumes she's heading - it's hard to tell.
For a real tall guy, the Weyrleader has a way of sneaking up on a girl, and it's clear Saliqa doesn't necessarily find it a praise-worthy skill. At being called out, she stiffens in surprise and then just as quickly visibly berates herself for acting that way. A darting, suspicious glance at the last dragon she'd been eyeing before K'del showed up might suggest where she puts some of the blame for this interception. "Well, excuse me," she replies, curving her foot as an afterthought to turn her path in a slightly different direction. "I'm certain as a young woman of good standing I don't know what you're talking about." Except, her eyes as she treats him with an off-hand look are too wise for that to exactly be true.
That response only seems to amuse K'del, probably not very helpfully; he grins at her, holding back an outright peal of laughter. "Course not," he agrees, in an easy enough tone, digging gloved hands into his pockets so that he can hang his arms loosely. Considering the candidate again - or still, perhaps - he adds, after a moment, "But if you're not... what /are/ you doing, exactly?" It's not that his question pushes heavily for an answer, but there's no denying that there's outright curiosity in his expression, and that a truthful answer, if forthcoming, would be well received.
Saliqa makes several adjustments of her elbow to keep a hold of those hides but, on the fifth slip, her hands pull reluctantly from the haven of the scarf to accept the burden. Pressing thumbs into the blank sheets seems to prompt her to answer. "It's not that I /don't/ think the miners can do their jobs, because I do..." Head tilted at an angle towards the ground, she retreats on this answer, clearly not liking the sound of it. "I have an interest in the convicts, sir, so the cave-in was very distressing. One of them I consider my friend, though I don't believe I can say that to her face quite yet."
K'del is silent for several moments before he remarks on this, evidently needing to cogitate before he has something to say. "They won't let you close," he warns. "Hardly wanted to let /me/ near." A low breath escapes them, visible in the chill air, and he sounds sad and frustrated as he continues. "It was distressing for all of us, believe me, Saliqa. Doing everything we can to-- make things safer. To find out what happened, and how we can avoid it again." He hesitates, as though he's half-inclined to say something more, but stops himself. "We've lost too many people, these months."
Unable to make tracks towards the work tunnels, Saliqa's route turns somewhat less guided and more ambling, her legs always pressing to pick up the extra paces that she lacks in her shorter stride. "I suppose that's their right, them knowing best," she accepts of the warning, though darkly. But his tone softens the one of hers. Only his pause narrows her gaze and she's able to shake it off right after. "I'm sorry. I was not meaning to say that it wasn't, sir, hard for others. Hard for everyone. Seems at times if it's not one thing it's another. Good news from the starcrafters, though!"
K'del shortens his stride to allow Saliqa the opportunity to guide the route; for the moment, he seems more inclined to continue talking than to head off to the warmth of the caverns. "Know you weren't," he tells her, without hesitating, firmly. "Always hard. And--" He lets a long breath escape, shakes his head. "Still torn between celebrating that they've been freed, and stressing over what it all means. Makes it harder still, I guess." He frees one hand to wipe at his cold nose, and adds, finally, "The starcrafters, yeah. That /is/ good news. One load off my mind, at least."
Saliqa's pace is briefly conflicted between accepting his unspoken courtesy and keeping up the same quick walk to prove she can. It's an exercise that not only proves that they no longer have a real destination, but also slows her from listening to the conversation. So it's with a bit of a slow thinking double-take that she glances sideways at him to say, "What it means, sir? I'd think it'd just be that they have to keep better safety measures in there." A little sniff. "Pity if things were reflecting badly on them in charge." Does that include K'del? She gives no indication.
It doesn't seem to bother K'del, the increasing obviousness of their lack of destination. Nor does the delay in response seem to result in much reaction: he just keeps walking, apparently content to take in the bowl as a whole, surveying things silently. Her response, though, results in a pained little smile. "Perhaps so," he allows - a non-commital answer if ever there was one. Does that mean he thinks - knows? - that the truth is something more than that? "It will all be reviewed, regardless. May take the candidate convicts out of there, too. Not that we don't care about the wellbeing of all of them, but..."
"A review sounds proper," she agrees with a nod of the head that may just be making sure she doesn't say any more on the matter. Saliqa's fingers ball indecisively together underneath the stack of hides, unhappy at exposure and not wanting to stretch out into the cold. "Taking care of your own?" She makes this one sound less proper. "There's already a breed of unhappiness over some sleeping in better situations than others."
K'del's expression is appraising as he turns his head to consider Saliqa; he seems aware of the purpose of that nod, or perhaps just aware that some things are going unspoken, though he doesn't comment on it. "Very proper," he agrees, keeping his tone deliberately mild. There's a pause, and then, "Can I cary those for you? While we're accompanying one another. Your hands look cold." He's a man: he can cope with the cold, surely. Quietly, but with a questioning note to it, he adds, "By rights, all candidates are considered equal, regardless of birth, prior station in life, anything. /Should/ we be denying that to them? Doing the best we can for them all, searched or no."
Saliqa, meanwhile, has turned to a steady business of staring straight ahead, casually observing their environment in a way that lets her not watch her companion without seeming like she's ignoring him. At least, not exactly. Under scrutiny, she holds a level expression as if she has no idea it's even going on. "Thank you, that's very--" unexpected? "-- kind of you to offer. I don't know why I didn't bring my gloves with me." And he can have the hides, blank all, and tied together with a blatantly girlish ribbon. He might as well be carrying a girl-purse. "But by whose rights, sir?" Steady, challenging, but open for discussion. "Them who were wronged or taken advantage of by these convicts? Did you ask /them/ if they wouldn't mind being skipped over for getting to see their wrong-doers fulfill a proper sentence? Wouldn't it seem like the Weyr is flaunting the ability to null what the holds have passed down? What about the convicts who /aren't/ searched and get to work in a tunnel that just collapsed? How can they be expected to take an honest second chance at life seriously when they start to feel cheated, less than people?" ... A lot of discussion.
Lucky K'del. But he doesn't /visibly/ seem to regret the offer, and takes the hides into his own hands without another word. If all it takes is a bit of ribbon to threaten his manhood, well-- that wouldn't be much use, would it? "You're welcome," he says, which is an easy thing to say while, presumably, he thinks of an answer to the rest of what she's said. Finally, sounding thoughtful, he says, "Guess it's all matters of degree. Most of those convicts are all but done their sentences, and none of them have done anything /so/ bad. Am I thrilled to have them on the sands? No. But I'm not going to potentially leave some of Cadejoth's children without a partner, either, and that's what refusing them would be." He pauses for breath, then launches into, "As for the others-- don't believe conditions here are worse than they are at Crom. You ever visited those mines? We've done what we can to make them more comfortable. Gloves, warm meals, somewhere /indoors/ to sleep." Implication: should we be coddling them, then?
"All but done, but not done," Saliqa calls out of his answer. The level of seriousness in the look she aims to him is questionable at best considering that her hands are all tucked in under her chin again; she could be a child pleading for a favor. Except, again, it's the sharpness of her eyes that strives to save her. "Of course I've never been to the /mines/, that wouldn't be my pl-- not saying it's worse here, sir. Just." Feeling her defense slipping some, she gnaws rigorously on her lip to regain thoughts. "Guess I'm saying, making things better for all is great. Making things slightly even better for others, when their crimes are considered equal, is cause for discontent. This isn't about /my/ personal feelings," at least, the impression is that she doesn't want it to be. "Just... thinking... sir, what happens? Without a partner, for the dragons?"
"They die." K'del answers that one blankly, and before anything else; he lets it hang in the air for several seconds before he continues, tackling the other subjects instead. "Not saying it is about your personal feelings, Saliqa. Just answering your remarks as best I can. None of it is clear-cut; none of it is /easy/. Just doing the best we can on this." He adjusts the stack of hides in his hand, then adds, "A candidate is a candidate. Wherever they came from. That's all I'm saying."
Those two words have her quiet for all the time he allows them, her gaze shot forward to the ground where she watches her warm footsteps turn light snow into melting slush. "I trust that you are trying," Saliqa responds to the rest, not exactly a full vote of confidence but it has the word 'trust' in there. She wiggles with a sudden discomfort, a low disagreeing noise escaping her before a jerk of her head to the side dispels it all; now she's smiling in this odd, serene way. "Wherever they came from, yes. Discovering a bit of how many of us are from holds. Which brings me to this," she beckons him in then taps the top of the stack of hides, "I'd like your advice on a few things, when you've time."
If K'del expected a more obvious response to those two words, he shows it only in the searching nature of his gaze; no further remark seems necessary. That noise of disagreement gets a set of raised eyebrows, and he blinks, frowns. But it's the hides that get his next searching glance, looked at properly for undoubtably the first time, never mind that he's been carrying them. "This?" he repeats, narrowing in upon this, of all the things she's said. "Of course-- I'm always willing to listen. What's this about, Saliqa?"
"I was talking to ma'am Headwoman earlier," Saliqa begins to explain, staring at the blankness of that top page the whole time, "She said I might find some things in records to teach me a bit more about this process. About being a candidate. The Weyr. To be quite honest, I'm tired of coming off as quite ignorant," all the politeness, the earnestness that she usually affects drops out like a rock, revealing for the first time a young girl and her dry outlook: a grasp at intelligence beyond what she always seems to be doling out. "I'm going to gather up as many misconceptions as I can and record them, here. So that future candidates really can start out on even ground."
As Saliqa explains, K'del is silent, his gaze focusing on the blank page to begin with, but later, as the candidate continues, sliding towards her. He seems genuinely surprised by her change in tone, but not in a bad way: indeed, the corners of his mouth twitch up just slightly, as though he's /pleased/ to see this side of her. "I think that's an excellent idea," he tells her, firmly. "I-- remember what it was like." And he looks a little rueful for it. "Hadn't been at the weyr all that long myself, when I was searched. Pretended I knew everything, but..." But he didn't. And now, at least, he's willing to admit that much.
But now he does? Saliqa searches him with a look, her gait altogether paused ever since she made that switch in voice so that they are, instead, standing in the bowl just slightly off-angle of being in front of one another. She's close, with that hand on her belongings he's holding, and it makes her have to stare up especially high to get him in the eyes. "Good, I was very partial to the idea, myself. And it sounds like you could tell me a bit of the things that slipped you up, personally." But, oh, her hands slides back and her gaze slips away from him. She must've hit a keyword that alerted her to her behavior, because her next is a soft, "I mean, that is, if it's not too forward of me to suggest..."
"Saliqa--" begins K'del, probably in response to the way she changes her behaviour back. He noticed: there's no doubting that, now. "You can speak plain with me. And, embarrassing though it is in some ways, I've no problem talking about the things that tripped me up, sure." /Then/. Now? Oh no, no tripping up now. Five turns in a weyr is surely /plenty/ to know everything. He takes a breath, as though he's about to launch into something more, but ultimately, his mouth closes again, and it's a few seconds later, as he attempts to meet her gaze a second time, that he adds, "I hope you're not feeling too lost."
"Weyrleader." In perfect innocence at the sound of her name being said, Saliqa appears to have everything under control again. Keyword: appears. She bats an eye at the idea of speaking plain, otherwise holding steady. "Thank you, that's quite generous of you. It'd mean a lot, coming from the Weyrleader, himself. Though if you should wish to remain anonymous, I'd, of course, respect that, too." He's looking talk-y and taking deep breaths and all, but she rambles on right by as if loathe to give him that space, "Foremost on my mind is the dragons. As it turns out, I'd had a couple of things wrong, myself..." The lofty way with which she attempts to make the number of her own mistakes sound low falters when he somehow manages to catch her flighty gaze. Her hands dart to her own space, that resting spot under her chest as she blinks rapidly several times; there's probably a snowflake or something in her eye. Uh huh. "No, no. The Weyr's been unexpect--" wince, "--most suitably kind."
K'del is not /completely/ taken in by Saliqa's innocence, but maybe that's wishful thinking as much as anything. "Reckon I can take the mocking that would come with me spilling all the dumb things I thought. Least I'm not younger than most of the candidates now, right?" Most. But definitely younger than plenty. As their gaze meets, he attempts to look encouraging, warm, but-- it may not work all that well. "If it helps, not sure any of us - weyrbred or no - completely understand dragons until they actually Impress. But there are... basics that it helps to know upfront, yes." There's a pause, and then, seriously, and with genuine-sounding relief, "I'm glad. That we achieved above your expectations." No, he didn't miss that.
Something, at least, works-- even if it's the acceptance he gives of her wavering answer. A bit of a smile wrestles its way to Saliqa's face past the way her lips were starting to shake: from the cold, of course. "Well. It doesn't mean that, umm. Things are still done very differently between us." A finger slides towards her mouth but she pulls away before indulging teeth to that nail. Forcing her hands to smooth out her apron in that practiced motion, she swallows around whatever's getting progressively more stuck in her throat. "I'm sure the girls will have much interesting to say. At Crom. Home." So. It's becoming increasingly obvious that her answer might not have been completely truthful, at least so far as the 'feeling lost' part goes. In a bid for normalcy, she perks up in comforting amusement and references back, "I think we're the same age. Sir."
"Yeah," says K'del, with a bob of his head. "I get that." It's harder to tell what he's referring to, now, all these threads of conversation. But he's smiling, obviously pleased for her smile, no matter how small. But it's mostly sympathy and attempted understanding that he shows; for a moment, it looks as though one hand is intent upon reaching out to offer her a comforting touch, but it does not: it wavers, then stops. "Must be hard," he murmurs, then, awkward, but attempting sympathy. "To be-- alone, now, and... with all this." A wave of his hand. "Guess we are." Beat. "Around the same age, I mean. And..." And what? He doesn't finish, just shrugs his shoulders awkwardly.
Saliqa watches that hand on its path, unmoving so far as it makes. It's unclear if she would've dodged the gesture or not as he aborts instead; still, it's somewhat awkward so obviously acknowledging this failed so it takes her a long clueless second to figure out the politest appearance to be giving off. "Oh, yes," she blurts out in an overly anxious bid to be agreeable. "I mean, hard, yes. Will do things right, though, by what I'm expected." Expected by whom? "Just about," she nods for the age as much as for what his shrug says about how stilted this conversation has gotten. Still, toe scoffing on the ground, she hesitates only a moment before prompting, "And, sir?" Like perhaps he needed to know she was paying attention.
Awkwardness. Oh, awesome. K'del looks so-- so comfortable. In the sense of being absolutely the opposite of that. Making a face - an awkward one - he takes a few moments to respond, too, even after Saliqa has already made the effort. "I'm sure you will. I'd--" Er, pause. "Never doubt that. I promise." None of this stops him from trailing off awkwardly as she prompts; he seems utterly unsure what she's referring to at first, blinking several times fast before realisation, and then-- "Oh. Um. Just that I hope things get easier. That's all." Which may or may not be what was initially intended. But there it is.
That's not... that's not disappointment, is it? Because that'd be weird. No, it must be something else that flashes through Saliqa's round eyes as she delivers another one of those silence-filling nods. "Thank you," she's returned to polite mode, but it's a genuine niceness to go with his well-wishing. "I believe that they will. And, uh, having something like this to do will help fill it in." On 'this' she holds out both hands, palms towards each other, so that they're framing the invisible shape of what that stack of hides would be if she were holding them there. "If that's it," cue the tiniest pause waiting for perhaps, /perhaps/, some change of mind on his 'that's all' declaration. But she ruins it her own self by plowing on, "I'll call on you later. For the advice, of course."
And K'del looks kind of torn, as though he's still debating whether to say whatever it was-- but Saliqa's plowing on draws an end to that, and in the end, he only nods hastily. "Yes, of course. Any time. Can find me-- well, Council Chambers during the day, my weyr in the early evening." That second one seems to make him pause, as though he's realised that an invitation to a man's weyr might not seem appropriate, because he hastily adds, "Or, you know, I'm sure you'll see me around. Um." He extends his hands out, offering the papers back, then adds, "Good luck, I guess?" If that's appropriate.
Nod, nod, nod-- impropriety alert! "Milani was just telling how weyrs are like cotholds!" Saliqa busts it out exactly on top of his own quick addendum so there's a second of wide-eyed incomprehension before the need to act and take those papers becomes comforting and distracting. Scooping the package to her chest, she flashes him one of those perfect smiles to accompany her bobbing, no-handed curtsey. "Thank you," because that's appropriate. She hovers in place another second longer, feeling out the moment, before -- a repeated, slightly less formal bob -- she excuses herself from his company to trudge some winding way back to from whence she came. Now the miners' work and the lounging dragons might as well not even be there.
K'del opens his mouth with the obvious intention of saying /something/-- but it doesn't make it out, not with Saliqa bobbing as she does, then heading off so quickly. In the end, he only manages a hurried, "You're welcome!" in her departing direction. /He/ takes off in a different direction, hurriedly, a few moments later.
Location: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: K'del and Saliqa discuss convicts and cave-ins. And... awkward things.
Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone.
Towards the south-eastern end of the bowl, a large area has been cordoned off with heavy ropes. The bowl wall has mostly been covered by enormous lengths of oiled cloth, hiding damage left in the wake of the meteor and eye rock, which fell here.
The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little sticks.
The Cromite candidate is clearly coming off of chores, her wet and worn apron still around her as she steps from the brighter light caverns to the outside where scattered snow melts off the ground. Though bundled against the cold, she has her hands pressed under the thick scarf at her neck for extra protection, leaving the bundle of hides she's carrying to be held under her arm. As she makes footprints towards the halted work-site she tries to keep out of the way of those still overseeing it. This becomes increasingly more difficult because, with each step, her gaze leaves the trouble on the ground and wanders higher and higher to wherever are perched those large forms of watching dragons. She averts her eyes quickly when she realizes it, though, never wanting to linger on one of them too long.
Even as bundled up against the cold as he is, K'del's an easy figure to pick out, rather taller than all of the men in the group he's talking to: miners and overseers all. From the looks of it, they're just emerging from within the worksite, and the Weyrleader's expression is pretty grim as he makes serious, if appreciative, farewells and turns to head back off across the bowl. Saliqa's wandering gaze probably allows him to get rather closer without being seen than he otherwise would; he actively alters his path to intercept her, looking curious. "Sticky-beaking, Saliqa?" he wants to know, though his tone is far from accusatory. He could be talking about the way she's looking at the dragons, or perhaps where he assumes she's heading - it's hard to tell.
For a real tall guy, the Weyrleader has a way of sneaking up on a girl, and it's clear Saliqa doesn't necessarily find it a praise-worthy skill. At being called out, she stiffens in surprise and then just as quickly visibly berates herself for acting that way. A darting, suspicious glance at the last dragon she'd been eyeing before K'del showed up might suggest where she puts some of the blame for this interception. "Well, excuse me," she replies, curving her foot as an afterthought to turn her path in a slightly different direction. "I'm certain as a young woman of good standing I don't know what you're talking about." Except, her eyes as she treats him with an off-hand look are too wise for that to exactly be true.
That response only seems to amuse K'del, probably not very helpfully; he grins at her, holding back an outright peal of laughter. "Course not," he agrees, in an easy enough tone, digging gloved hands into his pockets so that he can hang his arms loosely. Considering the candidate again - or still, perhaps - he adds, after a moment, "But if you're not... what /are/ you doing, exactly?" It's not that his question pushes heavily for an answer, but there's no denying that there's outright curiosity in his expression, and that a truthful answer, if forthcoming, would be well received.
Saliqa makes several adjustments of her elbow to keep a hold of those hides but, on the fifth slip, her hands pull reluctantly from the haven of the scarf to accept the burden. Pressing thumbs into the blank sheets seems to prompt her to answer. "It's not that I /don't/ think the miners can do their jobs, because I do..." Head tilted at an angle towards the ground, she retreats on this answer, clearly not liking the sound of it. "I have an interest in the convicts, sir, so the cave-in was very distressing. One of them I consider my friend, though I don't believe I can say that to her face quite yet."
K'del is silent for several moments before he remarks on this, evidently needing to cogitate before he has something to say. "They won't let you close," he warns. "Hardly wanted to let /me/ near." A low breath escapes them, visible in the chill air, and he sounds sad and frustrated as he continues. "It was distressing for all of us, believe me, Saliqa. Doing everything we can to-- make things safer. To find out what happened, and how we can avoid it again." He hesitates, as though he's half-inclined to say something more, but stops himself. "We've lost too many people, these months."
Unable to make tracks towards the work tunnels, Saliqa's route turns somewhat less guided and more ambling, her legs always pressing to pick up the extra paces that she lacks in her shorter stride. "I suppose that's their right, them knowing best," she accepts of the warning, though darkly. But his tone softens the one of hers. Only his pause narrows her gaze and she's able to shake it off right after. "I'm sorry. I was not meaning to say that it wasn't, sir, hard for others. Hard for everyone. Seems at times if it's not one thing it's another. Good news from the starcrafters, though!"
K'del shortens his stride to allow Saliqa the opportunity to guide the route; for the moment, he seems more inclined to continue talking than to head off to the warmth of the caverns. "Know you weren't," he tells her, without hesitating, firmly. "Always hard. And--" He lets a long breath escape, shakes his head. "Still torn between celebrating that they've been freed, and stressing over what it all means. Makes it harder still, I guess." He frees one hand to wipe at his cold nose, and adds, finally, "The starcrafters, yeah. That /is/ good news. One load off my mind, at least."
Saliqa's pace is briefly conflicted between accepting his unspoken courtesy and keeping up the same quick walk to prove she can. It's an exercise that not only proves that they no longer have a real destination, but also slows her from listening to the conversation. So it's with a bit of a slow thinking double-take that she glances sideways at him to say, "What it means, sir? I'd think it'd just be that they have to keep better safety measures in there." A little sniff. "Pity if things were reflecting badly on them in charge." Does that include K'del? She gives no indication.
It doesn't seem to bother K'del, the increasing obviousness of their lack of destination. Nor does the delay in response seem to result in much reaction: he just keeps walking, apparently content to take in the bowl as a whole, surveying things silently. Her response, though, results in a pained little smile. "Perhaps so," he allows - a non-commital answer if ever there was one. Does that mean he thinks - knows? - that the truth is something more than that? "It will all be reviewed, regardless. May take the candidate convicts out of there, too. Not that we don't care about the wellbeing of all of them, but..."
"A review sounds proper," she agrees with a nod of the head that may just be making sure she doesn't say any more on the matter. Saliqa's fingers ball indecisively together underneath the stack of hides, unhappy at exposure and not wanting to stretch out into the cold. "Taking care of your own?" She makes this one sound less proper. "There's already a breed of unhappiness over some sleeping in better situations than others."
K'del's expression is appraising as he turns his head to consider Saliqa; he seems aware of the purpose of that nod, or perhaps just aware that some things are going unspoken, though he doesn't comment on it. "Very proper," he agrees, keeping his tone deliberately mild. There's a pause, and then, "Can I cary those for you? While we're accompanying one another. Your hands look cold." He's a man: he can cope with the cold, surely. Quietly, but with a questioning note to it, he adds, "By rights, all candidates are considered equal, regardless of birth, prior station in life, anything. /Should/ we be denying that to them? Doing the best we can for them all, searched or no."
Saliqa, meanwhile, has turned to a steady business of staring straight ahead, casually observing their environment in a way that lets her not watch her companion without seeming like she's ignoring him. At least, not exactly. Under scrutiny, she holds a level expression as if she has no idea it's even going on. "Thank you, that's very--" unexpected? "-- kind of you to offer. I don't know why I didn't bring my gloves with me." And he can have the hides, blank all, and tied together with a blatantly girlish ribbon. He might as well be carrying a girl-purse. "But by whose rights, sir?" Steady, challenging, but open for discussion. "Them who were wronged or taken advantage of by these convicts? Did you ask /them/ if they wouldn't mind being skipped over for getting to see their wrong-doers fulfill a proper sentence? Wouldn't it seem like the Weyr is flaunting the ability to null what the holds have passed down? What about the convicts who /aren't/ searched and get to work in a tunnel that just collapsed? How can they be expected to take an honest second chance at life seriously when they start to feel cheated, less than people?" ... A lot of discussion.
Lucky K'del. But he doesn't /visibly/ seem to regret the offer, and takes the hides into his own hands without another word. If all it takes is a bit of ribbon to threaten his manhood, well-- that wouldn't be much use, would it? "You're welcome," he says, which is an easy thing to say while, presumably, he thinks of an answer to the rest of what she's said. Finally, sounding thoughtful, he says, "Guess it's all matters of degree. Most of those convicts are all but done their sentences, and none of them have done anything /so/ bad. Am I thrilled to have them on the sands? No. But I'm not going to potentially leave some of Cadejoth's children without a partner, either, and that's what refusing them would be." He pauses for breath, then launches into, "As for the others-- don't believe conditions here are worse than they are at Crom. You ever visited those mines? We've done what we can to make them more comfortable. Gloves, warm meals, somewhere /indoors/ to sleep." Implication: should we be coddling them, then?
"All but done, but not done," Saliqa calls out of his answer. The level of seriousness in the look she aims to him is questionable at best considering that her hands are all tucked in under her chin again; she could be a child pleading for a favor. Except, again, it's the sharpness of her eyes that strives to save her. "Of course I've never been to the /mines/, that wouldn't be my pl-- not saying it's worse here, sir. Just." Feeling her defense slipping some, she gnaws rigorously on her lip to regain thoughts. "Guess I'm saying, making things better for all is great. Making things slightly even better for others, when their crimes are considered equal, is cause for discontent. This isn't about /my/ personal feelings," at least, the impression is that she doesn't want it to be. "Just... thinking... sir, what happens? Without a partner, for the dragons?"
"They die." K'del answers that one blankly, and before anything else; he lets it hang in the air for several seconds before he continues, tackling the other subjects instead. "Not saying it is about your personal feelings, Saliqa. Just answering your remarks as best I can. None of it is clear-cut; none of it is /easy/. Just doing the best we can on this." He adjusts the stack of hides in his hand, then adds, "A candidate is a candidate. Wherever they came from. That's all I'm saying."
Those two words have her quiet for all the time he allows them, her gaze shot forward to the ground where she watches her warm footsteps turn light snow into melting slush. "I trust that you are trying," Saliqa responds to the rest, not exactly a full vote of confidence but it has the word 'trust' in there. She wiggles with a sudden discomfort, a low disagreeing noise escaping her before a jerk of her head to the side dispels it all; now she's smiling in this odd, serene way. "Wherever they came from, yes. Discovering a bit of how many of us are from holds. Which brings me to this," she beckons him in then taps the top of the stack of hides, "I'd like your advice on a few things, when you've time."
If K'del expected a more obvious response to those two words, he shows it only in the searching nature of his gaze; no further remark seems necessary. That noise of disagreement gets a set of raised eyebrows, and he blinks, frowns. But it's the hides that get his next searching glance, looked at properly for undoubtably the first time, never mind that he's been carrying them. "This?" he repeats, narrowing in upon this, of all the things she's said. "Of course-- I'm always willing to listen. What's this about, Saliqa?"
"I was talking to ma'am Headwoman earlier," Saliqa begins to explain, staring at the blankness of that top page the whole time, "She said I might find some things in records to teach me a bit more about this process. About being a candidate. The Weyr. To be quite honest, I'm tired of coming off as quite ignorant," all the politeness, the earnestness that she usually affects drops out like a rock, revealing for the first time a young girl and her dry outlook: a grasp at intelligence beyond what she always seems to be doling out. "I'm going to gather up as many misconceptions as I can and record them, here. So that future candidates really can start out on even ground."
As Saliqa explains, K'del is silent, his gaze focusing on the blank page to begin with, but later, as the candidate continues, sliding towards her. He seems genuinely surprised by her change in tone, but not in a bad way: indeed, the corners of his mouth twitch up just slightly, as though he's /pleased/ to see this side of her. "I think that's an excellent idea," he tells her, firmly. "I-- remember what it was like." And he looks a little rueful for it. "Hadn't been at the weyr all that long myself, when I was searched. Pretended I knew everything, but..." But he didn't. And now, at least, he's willing to admit that much.
But now he does? Saliqa searches him with a look, her gait altogether paused ever since she made that switch in voice so that they are, instead, standing in the bowl just slightly off-angle of being in front of one another. She's close, with that hand on her belongings he's holding, and it makes her have to stare up especially high to get him in the eyes. "Good, I was very partial to the idea, myself. And it sounds like you could tell me a bit of the things that slipped you up, personally." But, oh, her hands slides back and her gaze slips away from him. She must've hit a keyword that alerted her to her behavior, because her next is a soft, "I mean, that is, if it's not too forward of me to suggest..."
"Saliqa--" begins K'del, probably in response to the way she changes her behaviour back. He noticed: there's no doubting that, now. "You can speak plain with me. And, embarrassing though it is in some ways, I've no problem talking about the things that tripped me up, sure." /Then/. Now? Oh no, no tripping up now. Five turns in a weyr is surely /plenty/ to know everything. He takes a breath, as though he's about to launch into something more, but ultimately, his mouth closes again, and it's a few seconds later, as he attempts to meet her gaze a second time, that he adds, "I hope you're not feeling too lost."
"Weyrleader." In perfect innocence at the sound of her name being said, Saliqa appears to have everything under control again. Keyword: appears. She bats an eye at the idea of speaking plain, otherwise holding steady. "Thank you, that's quite generous of you. It'd mean a lot, coming from the Weyrleader, himself. Though if you should wish to remain anonymous, I'd, of course, respect that, too." He's looking talk-y and taking deep breaths and all, but she rambles on right by as if loathe to give him that space, "Foremost on my mind is the dragons. As it turns out, I'd had a couple of things wrong, myself..." The lofty way with which she attempts to make the number of her own mistakes sound low falters when he somehow manages to catch her flighty gaze. Her hands dart to her own space, that resting spot under her chest as she blinks rapidly several times; there's probably a snowflake or something in her eye. Uh huh. "No, no. The Weyr's been unexpect--" wince, "--most suitably kind."
K'del is not /completely/ taken in by Saliqa's innocence, but maybe that's wishful thinking as much as anything. "Reckon I can take the mocking that would come with me spilling all the dumb things I thought. Least I'm not younger than most of the candidates now, right?" Most. But definitely younger than plenty. As their gaze meets, he attempts to look encouraging, warm, but-- it may not work all that well. "If it helps, not sure any of us - weyrbred or no - completely understand dragons until they actually Impress. But there are... basics that it helps to know upfront, yes." There's a pause, and then, seriously, and with genuine-sounding relief, "I'm glad. That we achieved above your expectations." No, he didn't miss that.
Something, at least, works-- even if it's the acceptance he gives of her wavering answer. A bit of a smile wrestles its way to Saliqa's face past the way her lips were starting to shake: from the cold, of course. "Well. It doesn't mean that, umm. Things are still done very differently between us." A finger slides towards her mouth but she pulls away before indulging teeth to that nail. Forcing her hands to smooth out her apron in that practiced motion, she swallows around whatever's getting progressively more stuck in her throat. "I'm sure the girls will have much interesting to say. At Crom. Home." So. It's becoming increasingly obvious that her answer might not have been completely truthful, at least so far as the 'feeling lost' part goes. In a bid for normalcy, she perks up in comforting amusement and references back, "I think we're the same age. Sir."
"Yeah," says K'del, with a bob of his head. "I get that." It's harder to tell what he's referring to, now, all these threads of conversation. But he's smiling, obviously pleased for her smile, no matter how small. But it's mostly sympathy and attempted understanding that he shows; for a moment, it looks as though one hand is intent upon reaching out to offer her a comforting touch, but it does not: it wavers, then stops. "Must be hard," he murmurs, then, awkward, but attempting sympathy. "To be-- alone, now, and... with all this." A wave of his hand. "Guess we are." Beat. "Around the same age, I mean. And..." And what? He doesn't finish, just shrugs his shoulders awkwardly.
Saliqa watches that hand on its path, unmoving so far as it makes. It's unclear if she would've dodged the gesture or not as he aborts instead; still, it's somewhat awkward so obviously acknowledging this failed so it takes her a long clueless second to figure out the politest appearance to be giving off. "Oh, yes," she blurts out in an overly anxious bid to be agreeable. "I mean, hard, yes. Will do things right, though, by what I'm expected." Expected by whom? "Just about," she nods for the age as much as for what his shrug says about how stilted this conversation has gotten. Still, toe scoffing on the ground, she hesitates only a moment before prompting, "And, sir?" Like perhaps he needed to know she was paying attention.
Awkwardness. Oh, awesome. K'del looks so-- so comfortable. In the sense of being absolutely the opposite of that. Making a face - an awkward one - he takes a few moments to respond, too, even after Saliqa has already made the effort. "I'm sure you will. I'd--" Er, pause. "Never doubt that. I promise." None of this stops him from trailing off awkwardly as she prompts; he seems utterly unsure what she's referring to at first, blinking several times fast before realisation, and then-- "Oh. Um. Just that I hope things get easier. That's all." Which may or may not be what was initially intended. But there it is.
That's not... that's not disappointment, is it? Because that'd be weird. No, it must be something else that flashes through Saliqa's round eyes as she delivers another one of those silence-filling nods. "Thank you," she's returned to polite mode, but it's a genuine niceness to go with his well-wishing. "I believe that they will. And, uh, having something like this to do will help fill it in." On 'this' she holds out both hands, palms towards each other, so that they're framing the invisible shape of what that stack of hides would be if she were holding them there. "If that's it," cue the tiniest pause waiting for perhaps, /perhaps/, some change of mind on his 'that's all' declaration. But she ruins it her own self by plowing on, "I'll call on you later. For the advice, of course."
And K'del looks kind of torn, as though he's still debating whether to say whatever it was-- but Saliqa's plowing on draws an end to that, and in the end, he only nods hastily. "Yes, of course. Any time. Can find me-- well, Council Chambers during the day, my weyr in the early evening." That second one seems to make him pause, as though he's realised that an invitation to a man's weyr might not seem appropriate, because he hastily adds, "Or, you know, I'm sure you'll see me around. Um." He extends his hands out, offering the papers back, then adds, "Good luck, I guess?" If that's appropriate.
Nod, nod, nod-- impropriety alert! "Milani was just telling how weyrs are like cotholds!" Saliqa busts it out exactly on top of his own quick addendum so there's a second of wide-eyed incomprehension before the need to act and take those papers becomes comforting and distracting. Scooping the package to her chest, she flashes him one of those perfect smiles to accompany her bobbing, no-handed curtsey. "Thank you," because that's appropriate. She hovers in place another second longer, feeling out the moment, before -- a repeated, slightly less formal bob -- she excuses herself from his company to trudge some winding way back to from whence she came. Now the miners' work and the lounging dragons might as well not even be there.
K'del opens his mouth with the obvious intention of saying /something/-- but it doesn't make it out, not with Saliqa bobbing as she does, then heading off so quickly. In the end, he only manages a hurried, "You're welcome!" in her departing direction. /He/ takes off in a different direction, hurriedly, a few moments later.